
' r f A 



CopightN?_ 



CORfRIGHT DEPOSm 



POEMS 

of WORTH 

With a 

PROSE SUPPLEMENT 

ADAPTED FOR USE 
IN THE STUDY OF 
ORAL ENGLISH IN 
ELEMENTARY 
SCHOOLS, JUNIOR 
HIGH SCHOOLS, AND 
HIGH SCHOOLS. 



Compiled Especially for Use 
in the Warren City Schools 



By 

MARJORIE B. RICE 

SUPERVISOR OF THE 
ORAL EXPRESSION DEPARTMENT 
OF THE WARREN' CITY SCHOOLS 



lit I III IK PRINTCRAFT CO., PUBLISHERS, CLEVELAND, OHIO 



-?ft 



\\ 



.ft 






Copyrighted by 

Marjorie B. Rice, 

1921. 



JAN -6 1922 



©CI.A653438 



- 



To the pupils of the Warren City Schools, and other 
institutions of learning, who by the cultivation of speech 
and the art of Oral Expression become fitted to organize 

their thoughts and to express themselves by voice and 
action. 

To teachers seeking material of worth for literary in- 
terpretation, and entertainment. 

To readers desiring to present to the public the most 
wholesome poetry of the present time. 

This volume is hereby dedicated by the author. 



Note 

The editor acknowledges her indebtedness to the fol- 
lowing authors and publishers for the use of copyrighted 
poems : 

Mrs. Natalia Whitted Price, for the "Patchwork 
Quilt," from Lyric Prose and Verse. 

Messrs. D. Appleton & Co. for the poems by William 
Cullen Bryant. 

The Bobbs-Merrill Company for the poems by James 
Whitcomb Riley, and Wallace Bruce Amsbary. 

Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company for the poems by 
Henry W. Longfellow, Alice Cary, Phoebe Cary, James 
Russell Lowell and John Greenleaf Whittier. 

The Macmillan Company for the poem by Vachel 
Lindsay. 

Dodd Meade & Co for the poems by Paul Laurence 
Dunbar. 

Henry Holt & Company for the poem by Margaret 
Widdemer. 

George H. Doran Company for the poems by Joyce 
Kilmer. 

Harcourt, Brace & Company Inc. for the poems by 
T. A. Daly. 

W. B. Conkey Company for the poems by Ella 
Wheeler Wilcox. 

Willis Music Co. for the poem by Paul Bliss. 
Dodge Publishing Company for the poems- by Ed- 
mund Vance Cooke. 

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. for the poems by Sam 
Walter Foss. 

Reilly & Lee Co. for the poems by Edgar A. Guest. 
Forbes & Company for the poems by Ben King, and 
Strickland Gilliland. 

John Lane Company for the poem by Angela Morgan. 
T. S. Dennison Co. for the poems by Lytton Cox. 

G. P. Putnam's Sons for the poem by William Henry 
Drummond. 

Thomas Y. Crowell Company for the poems by Al- 
fred Tennyson, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Burns, Sir 
Walter Scott, Rudyard Kipling and Burges Johnson. 

Charles Scribner's Sons for the poems by Robert 
Louis Stevenson, H. C. Bunner, Henry Van Dyke and 
Eugene Field. 

Frederick A. Stokes & Co. for the poem by Alfred 
Noyes. 

Harper Bros, for the poem by John D. Wells. 



Table of Contents 



Page 

Oral Expression 1 

Breathing Exercises 3 

Vocal Energy 3 

Oratorical Selections 4 

Pronunciation 8 

Articulation 8 

•Oral Reproduction 10 

Current Events 11 

Oral Composition 12 

Description 12 

Narration 13 

Exposition 16 

Original Stories 17 

Improving the Vocabulary 17 

Argumentation 18 

Debate. 18 

Pantomime 21 

Extemporaneous Talks 21 

Extemperaneous Plays 22 



Poems for Oral English in Junior High Schools 
and High Schools 

Hamlet's Soliloquy William Shakespeare 23 

Seven Ages of Man William Shakespeare 24 

Reputation William Shakespeare 24 

Mercy William Shakespeare 25 

Man William Shakespeare 25 

Mother O' Mine Rudyard Kipling IS 

Mandalay Rudyard Kipling 26 

When Earth's Last Picture Rudyard Kipling 30 

If '.Rudyard Kipling 30 

Verses of Eriendship and Faith Henry Van Dyke 31 

The Builders Henry Van Dyke 32 

America for Me Henry Van Dyke 33 

Solitude Ella Wheeler Wilcox 34 

My Ships Ella Wheeler Wilcox 35 

Smile Arthur Chamberlain 35 

Thanatopsis William Cullen Byrant 36 

The Flower of Mending Vachel Lindsay 36 

Joyce Kilmer 37 

Roofs Joyce Kilmer 37 

The House with Nobody in It Joyce Kilmer 38 

low 4ngela Morgan 39 

Rini; Out Wild Bells -Hired Tennyson 40 

The Bugle Sou- lifred Tennyson 41 

ng the Bar -Hfred Tennyson 41 

Nobility Alice Cary 42 

nber I lice Cary 43 

The Poet and His Song Paul Laurence Dunbar 44 

In Flanders Fields R. IV. Lillard 45 

Answer of America Edgar Allen Poe 45 



Poems of piortlj 



m . mi Page 

Lochinvar ^ Sir Walter Scott 47 

Captain! My Captain! Walt Whitman 48 

The First Snowfall James Russel Lowell 49 

Barbara Frietchie .John Greenleaf Whittier 50 

The Barefoot Boy John Greenleaf Whittier 52 

Opportunity Sir Walter Scott 54 

The Blue and the Gray Francis Miller Finch 55 

Daybreak Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 56 

Hiawatha's Wooing Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 57 

Christmas Bells Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 62 

The Village Blacksmith Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 63 

The Day is Done Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 64 

The Necklace of Pearls Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 65 

The Arrow and the Song Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 66 

Song Margaret Widdemer 66 

A Man's a Man for A' That Robert Burns 67 

Breathes There a Man With Soul So Dead.Sz'r Walter Scott 68 

Star Spangled Banner Francis Scott Key 68 

Independence Bell Anonymous 69 

How did you Die Edmund Vance Cooke 71 

Somebody's Mother Anonymous 72 

Apple Blossoms George Martin 73 

The Landing of the Pilgrims Joaquin Miller 74 

Columbus Joaquin Miller 75 

A Leap for Life Walter Colton 76 

Abou Ben Adhem I^eigh Hunt 77 

Mrs. Lofty and I Anonymous 77 

Your Flag and My Flag '. Wilbur D. Nesbit 78 

Little Boy Blue Eugene Field 79 

Jim Bludsoe John Hay 80 

The Daffodils William Wordsworth 81 

Aux Italiens Rober Bulwer Lytton 82 



Sacred Selections 

The Wild White Rose Ellen H. Willis 86 

My Master Anonymous 87 

The Night Cometh Anonymous 88 

The Water Mill Anonymous 89 

The Inn that Missed It's Chance Amos R. Wells 91 

The House by the Side of the Road Sam Walter Foss 92 

In My Father's House Anonymous 93 



Poems for Entertainment 

What the Choir Sang About the New Bonnet. . M. T. Morrison 95 

Money Musk Anonymous 96 

An Old Sweetheart of Mine James Whitcomb Riley 98 

Be the Fellow That Your Mother Thinks Your AveAnonymous . 99 

Just for a Girl Anonymous 100 

Swinging in the Grape-vine Swing Hubbard T. Smith 100 

The Fool and the Little Court Lady Anonymous 101 

Bill Mason's Bride Bret Harte 102 



:|9oems of ^ortlr 



Counting Daisy Petals Lytton Cox 

Marjery Gray Inonymous 

Hullo Sam W 'alter Foss 

Home Edgar A. Guest 

Hum I'm Not Me /Inonymous 

1 it for I at Inonymous 

Highwayman Alfred Noyes 

Men Pierre r Wallace Bruce Amsbary 

The Habitant William Henry Drummond 

The 1 m Gee-Gee Fred Cape 

irque at Old Ste. Anne Wallace B. Amsbary 

IV Captaine of De Marguerite Wallace B. Amsbary 

The Ould Plaid Shawl Anonymous 

He Wasn't In It inonymous 

Kentucky Philosophy Harrison Robertson 

The Smack in School W. P. Palmer 

In the Usual Way Anonymous 

Signs of the Times Paul Laurence Dunbar 

In the Morning Paul Laurence Dunbar 

Little Brown Baby Paul Laurence Dunbar 

The Old Front Gate Paul Laurence Dunbar 

Encouragement Paul Laurence Dunbar 

Da Farmer T. A. Daly 

All's Well That Ends Well T. A. Daly 

Mia Carlotta T. A. Daly 

Between Two Lovers T. A. Daly 

The Lonely Honeymood T. A. Daly 

The Harbinger T. A. Daly 

Alia for Rosa T. A. Daly 

Wishes T. A. Daly 

The New Patriot T. A. Daly 

'I illie Olson Anonymous 

An "If" for Girls Eli°abelh L. Otis 

Billy He's in Trouhle Anonymous 

The Turkey's Dream .- Anonymous 

Her Folks and Hiz'n Ben King 

If I Can Be by Her Ben King 

The Pessimist Ben King 

If I Should Die To-night Ben King 

Sittin' hy the Fire Anonymous 

Me an' Pap an' Mother Strickland W. Gillian 

Finnigin to Flannigan Strickland W. Gillian 

The Family Group .Strickland W. Gillian 

The Hired Man Says John D. Wells 

Mrs M alone and the Censor Edgar A. Guest 

The Jersey Cow Inonymous 



Page 

03 



Poems for Oral Expression Department in 
Elementary Schools 

The Wind Robert Louis Stevenson 160 

n Children Robert Louis Stevenson 161 

I he Cow Robert Louis Stevenson 1M 

Robert Louis Stevenson 162 

The Weaving of tin Flag Lutton Cox I'.. 



jjjJoems of pJortlj 



Page 

One Two Three H. C. Bunner 163 

Suppose Phoebe Cary 164 

The Sandman Margaret Vandergrift 165 

Shopping for Sleep Anonymous 166 

Hurrah for the Flag Anonymous 167 

The Spicier and the Fly Mary Howitt 167 

The Children's Hour Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 169 

Hiawatha's Childhood Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 170 

The Owl and the Pussy Cat Edward Lear 172 

The Flag Goes By Henry Holcomb Bennett 173 

The Duel Eugene Field 174 

The Night Wind Eugene Field 175 

The Sugar Plum Tree Eugene Field 176 

Wynken Blynken and Nod .Eugene Field 177 

The Raggedy Man James Whitcomb Riley 178 

Our Hired Girl James Whitcomb Riley 179 

Little Orphant Annie James Whitcomb Riley 180 

Only One Mother George Cooper 181 

They Didn't Think Phoebe Cary 181 

Raining Rrobert Loveman 183 



Poems for Fall and Winter 

Autumn Leaves George Cooper 184 

How the Leaves Came Down Susan Coolidge 184 

Time Enough Anonymous 185 

September Helen Hunt Jackson 186 

October's Bright Blue Weather Helen Hunt Jackson 187 

October's Party Anonymous 188 

Three Little Chestnuts Anonymous 189 

Little Snowflakes Anonymous 189 

The Frost Hannah F. Gould 190 

The Little Kittens Anonymous 191 

The Wonderful Weaver George Cooper 192 



Poems for Christmas 

Hang Up the Baby's Stocking Anonymous 193 

Christmas Nahun Tate 194 

A Visit from St. Nicholas Clement .C Moore 194 

O Little Town of Bethlehem Philipps Brooks 196 

While Shepherds Watch Their Flocks By Night 

Margaret Deland 197 

Christmas Song Lydia A. C. Ward 198 



Poems for Spring 

A Spring Song ' Anonymous 199 

A Laughing Chorus Anonymous 199 

Cock Robin and Jenny Wren Anonymour 200 

The Burial of Poor Cock Robin Anonymous 203 

The Bluebird Emily II. Miller 205 

Who Stole the Bird's Nest Lydia M. Childs 205 

Pussy Willow Anonymous 207 

The Year's at the Spring Robert Browning 208 



^pocma of JBJortlj 



Page 

Wishes and Work Anonymous 208 

A Quarrel in the Oven Anonymous 208 

Lily's Ball Anonymous 209 

Spring Song Anonymous 210 

Rohert of Lincoln William Cullen Bryant 211 

The Chicken's Mistake Phoebe Cary 212 

Four Little Clouds Anonymous 213 

The F" i rs t Snowdrop Julia M. Dana 214 

The Heart of a Seed Anonymous 214 

At 1 aster Time Laura E. Richards 215 

Three Little Trees Anonymou 216 

Come Away Comrades Olive F. Smith 216 

An Arbor Day Tree Anonymous 216 

Planting the Tree Grace L. Driver 217 

The Faries Tea Party Inonymous 217 

Washington's Birthday Margaret Songster 218 



Poems for Entertainment 



Mammy's Pickaninny Lucy Dean Jenkins 220 

Sister's Best Fellow Joe Lincoln 221 

His New Brother Joe Lincoln 222 

The Minuet Mary Mapes Dodge 223 

Candle-lightin' Time Paul Laurence Dunbar 224 

When We Haven't Said Our Prayers Paul Bliss 225 

The Patchwork Quilt Natalia Whitted Price 226 

Jane Jones Ben King 227 

The Doll's Wooing Eugene Field 228 

Seein' Things Eugene Fields 229 

Jest 'Fore Christmas Eugene Fields 230 

A Christmas Kid Anonymous 231 

The Dead Doll Anonymous 232 

Dolly's Complaint Anonymous 234 

The Janitor's Child Anonymous 235 

The Boyless Town Anonymous 236 

Naughty Zell Anonymous 237 

A Boy's Conclusion Anonymous 238 

Cookin' Things Burges Johnson 239 

Was You liver Spanked Burges Johnson 240 

At the Zoo Anonymous 240 

My Sore Thumb Burges Johnson 241 

If I Was Er Horse Burges Johnson 241 

Grandma Pays the Bill Inonymous 242 

Growing Indignity Wilbur D. Nesbit 243 

The Lost Baby Anonymous 244 

When the Minister Comes to Tea Anonymous 245 

Wiggly Waggly Polliwog Inonymous 246 

M.i and the Auto Edgar A. Guest 247 

Practising Time Edgar A. Guest 248 

Caster (»il Eds^ar A .Guest 249 

A Fellar's Hat Ed^ar A. Guest 249 

Bud Discusses Cleanliness Ed^ar A. Guest 250 

The Fidgets Strickland W. Gillilan 251 

Tin- Crooked Window Lane Strickland W. Gilliland 252 

The Scapegoat Inonymous 253 



JInems of pWifj 



Page 

The Moo-Cow-Moo Edmund Vance Cooke 253 

On the Judgment Day Edmund Vance Cooke 254 

Somebody Did Anonymous 255 

Piller Fights D. A. Ellsworth 256 

A Besetting Sin Edmund Vance Cooke 257 

Daisy's Faith Anonymous 259 

Little Joe's Flower Anonymous 260 



^pacma of ptartl] 



Oral Expression 

Oral Expression is the science and art of expression 
by voice, speech and action. As a science it treats of 
the elements, or principles, underlying all expression, as 
an art it embodies the correct use of these principles. 

Skill in the use of the principles of expression is an 
.accomplishment in ordinary conversation. A refined 
and correct pronunciation of words is one of the founda- 
tion stones upon which all excellence in Oral Expression 
must be built — however, much we may deride the mechan- 
ics of speech, we are forced to acknowledge their impor- 
tance= — in studying phonation two things are important. 

First : Simplicity and clearance of statement. Second : 
A keen sense of sound. 

It is the purpose of vocal culture to develop that 
which is good in the voice, correct its imperfection, and 
acquire skill in its use. 

The chief attributes of a good voice, are Purity, 
Strength, and Flexbility. Purity of tone requires free 
vibration of the vocal cords, healthfulness of the res- 
onant cavities, and the vocalization of all breath used. 
Strength depends upon the breadth of vibrations and 
the power to project and sustain tones. Flexibility is 
dependent upon the elasticity of the vocal cords and the 
power to vary tones through the scale of pitch. 

The voice as an instrument consists of organs and 
muscles. 

The vocal organs are the Lungs, the Trachea, and 
Bronchi, the Larynx, the Pharnyx, the Nasal Cavities 
and the Mouth. 

The chief muscles used in voice production are the 
Diaphragm, the Abdominal Muscles and the Rib Muscles. 

The Law of correct breathing for voice production is 
as follows : 

In Respiration there should be an increase in the size 
6f the waist and lower part of the chest, in Expiration a 
decre 



Page One 



^Joems of ptartlf 



The first step in securing Vocal Energy is the mas- 
tery of physical exercises that help develop the muscles 
of the diaphragm, the abdomen, the chest, the trunk, the 
thorax, and the throat. 

BREATHING EXERCISES 

For the Lungs : 

(1) Fully inflate the lungs, retain the breath, strike 
the chest gently five times with open palms, and then ex- 
hale the breath quickly in the whispered sound of HA ! 

(2) Place hands on the hips, inhale and sustain the 
breath while bending the body to the right four times, to 
the left four times and then alternately four times. 

For the Vocal Cords : 

Inhale, then exhale slowly with the sharpest possible 
whisper of HA. 

For the Pharnyx and Nasal Cavities. 

Inhale and exhale slowly through the nostrils with 
an aspirate sound. 

For the Abdominal Muscles. 

Use the muscles in panting like a dog, closing by one 
quick expulsion of breath. Let the throat muscles be 
free, whisper the following — Rush on to Victory, Save 1 
the Day. 

For the Diaphragm. 

Draw in the breath with vigor through a small open- 
ing of the lips, exhale with equal vigor, with lips com- 
pressed. 

For the Rib Muscles : 

Inhale and distend ribs as far as possible — then con- 
tract them in expiration. 

SHORT DAILY DRILLS FOR THE DEVELOP- 
MENT OF VOCAL ENERGY 

Two minutes in deep breathing. 
Two minutes in deep reading. 
Two minutes in shouting. 
Two minutes in oratorical speaking. 
The First Step, Deep Breathing. 

The object is to get into the habit of filling all the 
cells of the lungs with air; inhale slowly for twenty or 

Page Two 



•JjJiuuns nt Hllortli 



thirty seconds; exhale for the same length of time. If 
thirty seconds of time are used, it will be quite a sure 
test that the lungs are being well filled. 
The Second Step ; Deep Reading. 
The object is to secure fullness of voice by resonance 
in the large cavity of the chest. 
Example for practice. 
From Guide Harold by Lord Byron. 
Roll on thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain, 
Alan marks the earth with ruin — his control 
Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 

When for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. 

The Third Step ; Shouting. 

The object of this step is to secure the maximum of 
power in vibration and resonance. 
Example for practice. 

(From "The Building of the Ship.") 
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! 

Sail on, O Union strong and great ! 

Humanity with all its fears, 

With all the hopes of future years, 

Is hanging breathless on thy fate! 

We know what Master laid thy keel, 

What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 

Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 

What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 

In what a forge and what a heat, 

Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! 

Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 

'Tis of the wave and not the rock; 

'Tis but the flapping of the sail, 

And not a rent made by the gale! 

In spite of rock and tempest's roar, 

In spite of false lights on the shore, 

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea! 

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, 

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears. 

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. 

Are all with thee — are all with thee ! 



Page Three 



•jJacms of JHoriij 



The Fourth Step; Oratorical Speaking. 
The object of this step is to prepare the student for 
the exacting demands of public speaking. 
Examples for practice. 

DEDICATION OF GETTYSBURG CEMETERY 
Abraham Lincoln 

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought 
forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in Lib- 
erty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are 
created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, 
testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived 
and so dedicated, can long endure. 

We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We 
are met to dedicate a portion of it as the final resting 
place of those who here gave their lives that that nation 
might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we 
should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, 
we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. 
The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have 
consecrated it far beyond our power to add or detract. 
The world will little note, nor long remember what we 
say here ; but it can never forget what they did here. 

It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated to the 
unfinished work that they have thus far so nobly carried 
on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great 
task remaining before us ; that from these honored dead 
we take increased devotion to that cause for which they 
here gave their last full measure of devotion ; that we 
"here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in 
vain ; that this nation shall, under God, have a new birth 
of freedom, and that government of the people, by the 
people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth. 

NOLAN'S SPEECH 
(Extract from "The Man Without a Country") 
Edward Everett Hale 
For your country, boy, and for that flag, never dream 
a dream, but of serving her as she bids you, though the 
service carry you through a thousand terrors. No mat- 
ter what happens to you, no matter who flatters you or 
who abuses you, never look at another flag, never let a 
night pass but you pray God to bless that flag. Remem- 
ber, boy, that behind all these men you have to deal with, 
behind officers, and government, — that you belong to 
Her as you belong to your mother. Stand by Her, boy, 
as you would stand by your mother. 



Page Four 



ijjloems of piortl] 



THE NATIONAL FLAG 
1 1 1 \k\ Ward B EEC HER 

A thoughtful mind, when it sees a nation's flag, sees 
not the flag, but the nation itself. When the French tri- 
color rolls out to the wind, we see France. When the 
found Italian flag is unfurled, we see unified Italy. 
\\ hen the united crosses of St. Andrew and St. George, 
on a fiery ground, set forth the banner of old England, 
we see not the cloth merely ; there rises up before the 
mind the idea of that great monarchy. 

This nation has a banner, too; and wherever this flag 
comes, and men behold it, they see in its sacred emblaz- 
onry no ramping lion and no fierce eagle, no embattled 
castles or insignia of imperial authority; they see the 
symbols of light. It is the banner of dawn. It means 
liberty ; and the galley slave, the poor, oppressed con- 
script, the trodden-down creature of foreign despotism, 
sees in the American flag the very promise of God. 

If one, then, asks me the meaning of our flag, I say 
to him : It means just what Concord and Lexington 
meant, what Bunker Hill meant. It means the whole 
glorious Revolutionary War. It means all that the Dec- 
laration of Independence meant. It means all that the 
Constitution of our people, organizing for justice, for 
liberty, and for happiness, meant. 

Our flag ca/ries American ideas, American history, 
and American feelings. Beginning with the colonies, 
and coming down to our time, in its sacred heraldry, in 
its glorious insignia, it has gathered and stored chiefly 
this supreme idea: divine right of liberty in man. Every 
color means liberty ; every thread means liberty ; every 
form of star and beam or stripe of light means liberty — 
not lawlessness, not license, but organized, institutional 
liberty — liberty through law, and laws for liberty! 

This American flag was the safeguard of liberty. Not 
an atom of crown was allowed to go into its insignia. 
Not a symbol of authority in the ruler was permitted to 
go into it. It was an ordinance of liberty by the people 
for the people. That it meant, that it means, and, by the 
rig of God, that, it shall mean to the end of time! 

I Fnder this banner rode Washington and his armies. 

re it Burgoyne laid down his arms. Tt waved on 

the highlands at West Point, When Arnold would have 

surrendered these valuable fortresses and precious lega- 

his night was turned into day and his treachery was 

Page Five 



•poems of pJortlj 



driven away by the beams of light from this starry 
banner. 

It cheered our army, driven out from around New 
York, and in their painful pilgrimages through New 
Jersey. This banner streamed in light over the soldiers' 
heads at Valley Forge and at Morristown. It crossed the 
waters rolling with ice at Trenton, and when its stars 
gleamed in the cold morning with victory, a new day 
of hope dawned on the despondency of this nation. 

Our states grew up under it. And when our ships 
began to swarm upon the ocean to carry forth our com- 
merce, and Great Britain arrogantly demanded the right 
to intrude her search warrants upon American decks, 
then up went the lightning flag, and every star meant 
liberty and every stripe streamed defiance. The gallant 
fleet of Lake Erie — have you forgotten it? The thun- 
ders that echoed to either shore were overshadowed by 
this broad ensign of our American liberty. Those glori- 
ous men that went forth in the old ship Constitution car- 
ried this banner to battle and to victory. The old ship 
is alive yet. Bless the name, bless the ship, bless her his- 
toric memory, and bless the old flag that waves over her 
yet! 

How glorious, then, has been its origin ! How glorious 
has been its history ! How divine is its meaning ! Accept 
it in all its fullness of meaning. It is not a painted rag. 
It is a whole national history. It is the Constitution. It 
is the government ; and for the sake of its ideas rather 
than its mere emblazonry, be true to your country's flag. 

NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS 

Charles Sprague 

Not many generations ago, where you now sit en- 
circled with all that exalts and embellishes civilized life, 
the rank thistle nodded in the wind and the wild fox dug 
his hole unscared. Here lived and loved another race 
of being. Beneath the same sun that rolls over your 
head the Indian hunter pursued the panting deer ; gazing 
on the same moon that smiles for you, the Indian lover 
wooed his dusky mate. Here the wigwam blaze beamed 
on the tender and helpless, and the council-fire glared on 
the wise and daring. Now they dipped their noble limbs 
in your sedgy lakes, and now they paddled the light canoe 
along your rocky shores. Here they warred ; the echoing 
whoop, the bloddy grapple, the defying death-song, all 

Page Six 



^pocms of piortlj 



were here; and when the tiger-strife was over, here 
curled the smoke of peace. 

Here too, they worshipped; and from many a dark 
bosom went up a fervent prayer to the Great Spirit. He 
had not written His laws for them on tables of stone, 
hut He had traced them on the tables of their hearts. 
The poor child of nature knew not the God of revelation, 
hut the God of the universe he acknowledged in every- 
thing around. Pie beheld Him in the star that sank in 
beauty behind his lonely dwelling; in the sacred orb that 
flamed on him from His mid-day throne; in the flower 
that snapped in the morning breeze ; in the lofty pine 
that defied a thousand whirlwinds ; in the timid warbler 
that never left its native grove; in the fearless eagle, 
whose untried pinion was wet in clouds ; in the worm 
that crawled at his feet ; and in his own matchless form, 
flowing with a spark of that light, to whose mysterious 
sources he bent in humble though blind adoration. 

And all this has passed away. Across the ocean came 
a pilgrim bark, bearing the seeds of life and death. The 
former were sown for you ; the latter sprang up in the 
path of the simple native. ■ Two hundred years have 
changed the character of a great continent, and blotted 
forever from its face a whole peculiar people. Art has 
usurped the bowers of nature, and the anointed children 
of education have been too powerful for the tribes of the 
ignorant. Here and there a stricken few remain ; but 
how unlike their bold, untamable progenitors. The In- 
dian of falcon glance and lion bearing, the theme of the 
touching ballad, the hero of the pathetic tale, is gone, 
and his degraded offspring crawls upon the soil where 
he walked in majesty, to remind us how miserable is 
man when the foot of the conqueror is on his neck. 

As a race, they have withered from the land. Their 
arrows arc broken, their springs are dried up, their coun- 
cil-fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their 
war-cry is fast fading to the untrodden west. Slowly 
and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read 
their doom in the setting sun. They are-shrinking before 
the mighty tide which is pressing them away; they must 
soon hear the roar of the last wave which will settle over 
them forever. Ages hence, the inquisitive white man, as 
he stands by some growing city, will ponder on the struc- 
ture of their disturbed remains, and wonder to what 
manner of persons they belonged. They will live only 
in the songs and chronicles of their exterminators. Let 



Page Seven 



JJoeme of JIEortlj 



these be faithful to their rude virtues as men, and pay 
due tribute to their unhappy fate as a people. 

PRONUNCIATION 

Pronunciation is the utterance in a single impulse of 
the elements that constitute a word. 

The pronunciation of words is established by the 
usage of people of intellect. The dictionary is a record 
of that usage and should be followed by students. 

In the application of the phonetic sounds in pronun- 
ciation there are four requirements : 

(1) Correct quality of vowel sound; (2) Clear ar- 
ticulation; (3) Correct syllabication; (4) Proper accent. 

Quality of vowel sound is the shading given to the 
vowels in different positions of the articulating organs. 

The following table is a simple form by which the 
vowels may be presented : 

TABLE OF VOWEL SOUNDS 







SIMPLE 






DIPHTHONGAL 


1 a as 


in 


all 


7 


e.as in term 


13 


a as in ale = a+e 


2 ( a as 
| a as 


in 


arm 


8 


i as in pin 


14 


i as in ice=a+e 


in 


ask 


9 


( do as in ooze 
( o*b as in look 


IS 


6 as in old=6+6b 


3 3 as in at 


16 


oi as in oil=a+e 


4 a as 


in 


care 


10 


o as in ox 


17 


ou as in our=a+ob- 


5 e as 


in 


eve 


11 


u as in up 


18 


u as in use = i+6» 


6 e as 


in 


met 


12 


u as in urge 




or y+oo 






LIST OF WORDS FOR PRACTICE 


all 




alms 




ask 


bat 


fair 


daughter 


aunt 




class 


larnyx 


share 


wharf 




almond 




after 


palmistry 


air 


vault 




Nevada 




grass 


paramount 


garnish 


dawn 




half 




fast 


jasper 


there 


dreary 




measure 




earn 


bid 




near 




hedge 




dirge 


rhythm 




gleam 




beck 




kernel 


lyrical 




query 




less 




g7rd 


dish 




lenient 




west 




myrrh 


mirror 




bode 




oi = a+e 




ou=a+ob 


duke 




board 




poise 




bough 


blue 




court 




buoy 




drowsy 


tune 




Dora 




oyster 




vouch 


new 




trow 




choice 




sour 


dew 





' ARTICULATION 

Articulation is the linking together of the elements of 
a word. This term is used chiefly with reference to the 
execution of consonants. 

Distinct pronunciation depends on the nimble use of 
the organs of articulation, namely the tongue, the teeth, 
the lips, and the palate. 

Sound is made in the glottis and when it reaches the 

Page Eight 



•$Joems of ^ortfy 



mouth, the tongue, teeth and lips form it into syllables 
and words. 

(orrcct pronunciation of the vowel sounds secures 
elegance and refinement in speech but distinctness in 
speech depends upon the articulation of the consonants. 

Therefore the First Step in the practice is the mas- 
tery of the consonantal elements. 

Following is a table for that use: 

TABLE OF CONSONANT SOUNDS 



Ttcth 
and 


Tongue 
Palate. 


T 


ongue and 
Palate. 


Teeth and 
Tongue. 


Lips and 
Teeth. 


Lips. 


r as 


in rap 


eh 


as in church 


th as in thin 


f as in file 


b as in babe 


r ' 


" war 


d 


" " did 


th " " thine 


v " " valve 


m "^"imaim 


s 


cerse 


1 


" gag 






p r "£"fp>peS 


sh " 


push 


) 


" judge 






w " " woe 


y ' 


" yet 


d 


" cake 






wh " " when 


z " 


zone 


1 


" " lull 








z 


azure 


n 
t 


" nun 

song 

" " tent 









The Second Step is the mastery -of final combinations. 
It is the final consonants that we fail to articulate. 

The method of practice is as follows: 
Take for example, the final combination Ik. 

( 1 ) Articulate the 1, then the k. 

(2) Articulate the combination Ik. 

(3) Pronounce the word milk. 

Articulate the following words in the same way: 

Id — bold, cold ; Ik — silk, bulk ; lp — help, scalp ; nd — 
band, land; If — elf, gulf; lm — helm, film; Is — calls, halls; 
nk — crank, link. 

The Third Step is the pronunciation of words of 
many syllables. 

The object of this step is to distribute the articulative 
energy. 

Method of practice, pronounce each of the following 
words four times in success with force: 

Absolutely, angularly, accurately, agitated, accessory, 
etc 

The Fourth Step is the mastery of difficult combina- 
tions in sentences. Learn to say the following sentences, 
increasing the rate of speed : 

Bring a bit of buttered brown bran bread. 

Eight gray geese in a green field grazing. 

Page Nine 



"Poems of JUIorilj 



Six thick thistle sticks. 

Lucy likes light literature. 

A big, black bug bit a big, black bear. 

The Fifth Step is reading. 

Newspaper articles in the form of current events, es- 
says, biographical sketches should be read aloud. 

Syllabication is the process of dividing words into 
syllables. 

A syllable is an element or combination of elements 
uttered with a single impulse of the voice and constitut- 
ing a word or part of a word. 

A syllable may contain one sound or as many as 
seven. 

In pronunciation there must be a separate syllable for 
each vowel or diphthong. 

ACCENTUATION 

Accent is the special weight put upon one syllable 
of a word to distinguish it from the rest. Accent is to 
a word what emphasis is to a phrase. A strong accent 
is one of the chief .features of the English language. 

Variation of accent in English serves to distinguish 
parts of speech, as between a noun and a verb, an adjec- 
tive, and an adverb, a noun and an adjective. 

ORAL REPRODUCTION 

The importance of Oral Reproduction can hardly be 
overestimated. 

The ability to think and to speak when standing be- 
fore an audience is one of the most valuable accomplish- 
ments that a young person can have. We are judged 
by what we say ; if we cannot express ourselves our 
knowledge is of no value to us in a commercial sense. 
In commercial, industrial, civic, social, religious, and edu- 
cational life there has grown up a remarkable demand 
for effective speaking. Today the schools must prepare 
for actual life, for, whether our graduates wish it or not, 
they will be looked up to as leaders in the democracy of 
social and civic activity. ' They must therefore be taught 
to express themselves well. The time for a boy or girl 
to learn to express their thoughts is while they are in 
school. If they do not learn to speak easily and fluently 
then they are not likely to learn to do so after leaving 
school. 

One of the simplest forms of Oral Reproduction is 
Story Telling. Every pupil in the class should read one 

Page Ten 



^pocms of purify 



of the following well known stories, and be prepared to 
tell it to the class in as interesting a way as possible: 

The Great Stone Face — Hawthorne. 

The Pied Piper of Hamlin — Browning. 

The King of the Golden River — Ruskin. 

King Robert of Sicily — Longfellow. 

The Elephant's Child — Kipling. 

Ali Baba and the borty Thieves — Arabian Nights. 

In preparing to tell a story keep the following points 
in mind. 

f Erect, 
J Not touching desk, 

1. Position. 1 Not tw j st j n g anc j turning, 

(, Hands not in pockets. 

2. Looking at audience. 

, ~ \ Loud enough, 

3. Tone. {Quality. 

4. Enunciation. Every word and syllable clear-cut, 

( ing and -ed sounded. 

i Grammatical errors, 
Choice of words, 
Repetition of and -er, etc. 

6. Knowledge of subject. 

There is one very simpletest by which you can judge 
while you are speaking whether you are telling your 
story well or not. Are you holding the attention of the 
members of the class? If you find that you are not, try 
to find the reasons for your failure and to strengthen 
your weak points. 

CURRENT EVENTS 

In most schools considerable time is devoted to Cur- 
rent Events and this makes an excellent opportunity for 
( )ral Recitation. It is impossible to give subjects that 
will be applicable at the time these lessons are studied but 
the teacher may assign a current subject and the pupils 
may be required to study it carefully. This will lead to 
discussion in class, the value of which can hardly be over- 
emphasized. Many people i, r o through life without the 
skill or the courage to enter into general discussions, 
however great tbeir interest in tbe subject being con- 
sidered. 

Page Eleven 



•))f oems of JIUorifj 



ORAL COMPOSITION 

We spend a large part of our time outside of school 
in telling our friends about things that interest us or in 
listening to them as they tell us of their experiences. All 
these are forms of composition. 

The word composition means putting together. We 
put words together to express our thoughts. Composi- 
tion is the expression of thoughts in Oral or Written 
English. 

Good Topics for Oral Composition : 

Something that the pupil did during his vacation that 
especially interested him, as a picnic, or a trip. 

Something that he saw, as a game, a parade, a fire, a 
runaway, or an accident. 

Be sure that the pupil is familiar with the incidents. 
An outline may be arranged as follows : 

An Introduction. 

The Events in Order. 

The Conclusion. 

In the introduction he should tell what he is going 
to talk about, describe circumstances, the persons who 
took a part. 

For the body of the talk, bring out the most inter- 
esting, incidents. 

For the conclusion sum up the result. 

DESCRIPTION 

Perhaps the best definition of description is this : A 
description is a word picture. The purpose of descrip- 
tion is to make the class see what the speaker sees or 
feels. He may have visited the National Capitol during 
his vacation — perhaps he may choose to tell the class 
about the White House, so that they could see it in their 
imagination. 

Generally the most essential and characteristic points 
are mentioned first, the lesser details are left in the back- 
ground. The skill of the speaker is shown by his ability 
so to guide the imagination of the class that the picture 
develops in the mind as a picture on a canvas. 

A description should be arranged according to a defi- 
nite order. When we see a building that is new to us, 
at first we get a general impression as of massiveness or 
great height. Then we notice details. The details should 
be described in the order in which we should see them, 
beginning at any given point. In describing a building 

Page Twelve 



;$Joems of ^flrth 



we begin at the top or the bottom and mention details in 
order. 

Lei the first lesson in description be a description of a. 
building. As the court house, a store, a school building 
or a church. 

The second a description of a person. This must be 
accurate. Suppose that your house has been robbed and 
you are called upon to furnish a description of the thief, 
to be of any value it must be so accurate a policeman will 
recognize the man from your description. It is worth 
while to learn to see accurately and to describe accu- 
rately. 

Select one of the following and be prepared to give 
a description. The most interesting person whom you 
know, an army officer, a private soldier, a baseball player, 
a street car conductor, a circus clown. 

The description of a person may be confined wholly 
to his outward appearance, or it may describe character- 
istics only, or it may be a combination of the two. 

Describe one of the following characters found in 
literature : 

John Alden (from Courtship of Miles Standish) — 
Longfellow. 

Portia (from Merchant of Venice) — Shakespeare. 

Aladdin (from Arabian Nights). 

George Washington (from Life of Washington) — 
Edward Everett. 

'1 he third lesson may be a description of a storm. 

Describe the worst storm that you can remember. 
Make your description as vivid as possible. 

The fourth, a description of a bit of scenery in or 
near your city or town. Make it as beautiful as possible. 

Tl>e fifth a description of interiors, be prepared to 
describe, a room in your school building, the interior of 
a store, a church, a drug store, an engine room, the wait- 
ing room at a doctor's office, a theatre, the manual 
training room, and the domestic science room. 

NARRATION 

A narrative is an orderly account of an event or a 
series of events. The purpose of narration is to give an 
account of events that have occurred or that might occur, 
so clearly that the listener will understand the things 
that happened as well as if he had seen them for himself. 

Page Thirteen 



Querns of pJorilj 



A narrative is usually told to give information to the 
hearer. In order that he may understand the narrative 
clearly, it is often necessary to describe the place, the 
circumstances, and the characters that are introduced ; 
and for this reason description usually forms a part of a 
narrative. 

In almost every narrative there is some point at which 
the interest is greatest, and at which the real end is 
reached. This point is called the climax. In general the 
climax should be near the end of the narrative. 

In telling a narrative care should be taken to preserve 
unity. 

Another point to keep in mind is coherence. In gen- 
eral, unity and coherence can best be secured by follow- 
ing the order in which the events occurred, or the time 
order. 

A third point is not to change the tense of the verbs. 
This means that you should not begin a narrative in the 
present tense and then change to the past, or vice versa. 

A narrative may be divided into three parts : 

(1) The introduction, in which the time, the place, 
and the conditions are so explained that the hearer may 
readily understand the account that follows. 

(2) The narration of the events. 

(3) The conclusion, which gives the results of the 
events. 

Let the first lesson in narration be a real or an imag- 
inary trip to Niagara Falls, or some other place of inter- 
est, and the following outline may be used : 

. . ( Starting point. 
Introduction j Embarking and starting . 

f Course. 
Weather 
The Voyage i piaces sighted and visite d. 

i. Interesting events. 

! Arrival at Falls. 
Description of Falls. 
The return. 

Lesson 2. Clearness. 

In addition to unity and coherence and correct Eng- 
lish, other qualities are essential in a narrative. One of 
these is Clearness. This means that the narrative should 

Page Fourteen 



^9oentB of JlHortlj 



be so told that the hearer can follow it easily and under- 
stand it readily. 

Tell a narrative simply and clearly, choosing one of 
the following subjects : 

Answering an advertisement ; Learning to drive a 
car; The first time I went to a circus; A narrow escape; 
A day in the country ; Lost on a drive. 

Lesson 3. Movement. 

' Another essential quality in an interesting narration is 
movement. 

Movement in narration means that one event follows 
another in rapid succession. 

The following subjects are suggestive : 
A game in which you took part; Finding a pocket- 
book ; A dream ; The travels of a dime ; A lost package. 

Lesson 4. Vividness. 

Vividness is another desirable feature in a narrative. 
It is difficult to explain how this result can be obtained. 
It is largely due to the spirit of the narrator — the expres- 
sion, the voice, and the gestures of the speaker aid in 
conveying the interest to the listener. 

Select one of the following subjects and make the 
narrative as vivid as possible: 

A frightened horse ; An automobile accident ; A ten- 
nis match ; An experience with a snake ; A ride in an 
aeroplane ; An auto that would not go. 

Lesson 5. Humorous Narratives. 
The ability to tell a humorous story well is a valu- 
able accomplishment. To a great extent this ability is a 
gift, but those who do not have the gift may cultivate it 
with practice. 

Select one of the following stories and be prepared to 
tell it to the class. 

How Tom Sawyer Whitewashed the Fence — Mark 
Twain. 

Uncle Remus Stories — Joel C. Harris. 
Sam Weller's Valentine, from Pickwick Papers — 
Dickens ( Chapter 5). 

>\' 6. Historical Narratives. 

Historical subjects often furnish material for nar- 
ratix ■ 

Read one of the following narratives and be prepared 
II it ti> the class. 



Page Fifteen 



poems of ptoriI| 



Paul Revere's Ride — Henry W. Longfellow. 
Barbara Frietchie — John Greenleaf Whittier. 
Horatius at the Bridge — Macaulay. 

The Boston Tea Party. 

Columbus Discovering America. 

The Death of Abraham Lincoln. 

EXPOSITION 

Exposition is a clear and orderly explanation. To be 
of value an explanation must be clear, definite, and accu- 
rate. In explaining how to do something or to make 
something that requires time for the process, the best 
way to secure clearness and definiteness in your expla- 
nation is to follow the order which corresponds to the 
development of the thing to be done or made. 

Lesson 1. Explain one of the following subjects 
simply and clearly: 

How to make a box ; How to make a cake ;• How to 
make a blue-print ; How to make an apron ; How to pre- 
pare the ground for a garden ; Explain the character of 
ground needed for growing rice; How to raise peanuts. 

Lesson 2. Be prepared to explain one of the follow- 
ing subjects : 

Why stamps are used on letters ; Why tickets are 
sold by railroads ; Why automobiles are licensed ; Why 
it is necessary to have traffic policemen ; How the fire- 
men locate a fire. 

Lesson 3. Practical Home Subjects. 

Name and explain in a general way the common 
method of lighting and heating houses ; Explain the ad- 
vantages and disadvantages of each ; Explain under what 
conditions each kind is used ; Explain the "cold pack" 
method of canning fruits and vegetables and explain its 
advantages over other methods. 

Lesson 4. Simple Science. 
Make an outline and explain one of the following : 

The life history of a frog; The life history of a but- 
terfly ; How pearls are formed ; Value of forests in con- 
serving moisture ; The parts of a flower. 

Lesson 5. All young people like to play games but 
it is not so easy to explain one so simply and clearly that 
a boy or girl who has never played the game can under- 
stand it readily. 

Page Sixteen 



■poems of $$orttj 



Explain how to play tennis; croquet ; baseball; foot- 
ball ; golf. 

Lesson 6. It is a great accomplishment to be able to 
direct a person clearly and accurately so that he can find 
his way to a certain place. 

Direct a stranger who is in your schoolroom to one 
of the points named below : 

To your post office; To your park; To a physician's 
office ; To another school building ; To the office of a coal 
dealer; To a railroad station. 

ORIGINAL STORIES 

A story is usually a combination of description, nar- 
ration and sometimes explanation. Description is nec- 
essary because you need to know the surroundings. The 
account of the events that happen is narration. It is 
sometimes necessary to explain things connected with 
the story. 

In nearly every story there is a definite plot that can 
be told in a few words. 

Lesson 1. Select one of the following subjects for 
which you can imagine a good plot. Write the plot in 
the form of an outline, using your outline as a guide to 
tell a story. 

The hidden treasure ; On a train with no money ; A 
strange adventure ; A generous act ; A discovery ; A for- 
tunate accident ; A rescue in an auto. 

IMPROVING THE VOCABULARY 

Have pupils begin the preparation of a working list 
of words, the pronunciation of which troubles them. Let 
it be arranged alphabetically. At regular intervals have 
this list brought to class for pronunciation and discussion. 

In discussing the desirability of fluency in speech and 
the aids in acquiring it, point out the difference between 
real fluency and mere speed. The latter is often mis- 
taken for the former. 

The amount of time to be given to the subjects of 
Slang and Errors in speech will depend upon the class. 
Go as slowly as is necessary, always driving home the 
fact that it is by our speech we are most often judged, 
and that we should admit no expressions by which we 
are unwilling to he judged. 

Page Seventeen 



•poems of piorirf 



ARGUMENTATION 

Among yourselves you are always discussing ques- 
tions that come up in connection with your school life. 
Suppose a change is made in your schedule, you have a 
very definite opinion as to whether it is advisable or not. 
Perhaps you discuss the matter with your school-mate, 
he thinks the change is a good one and you do not agree 
with him, you argue about it. He gives his reasons for 
thinking it is wise, and you give your reasons for think- 
ing it is not. This is an argument. 

In giving your arguments in favor of a subject, try 
to make definite points and state the points clearly. As 
an illustration, if you are to speak in favor of school fire 
drills, you may make your points like this. We should 
have school fire drills for the following reasons : 

1. They protect the lives of the pupils. 

2. They relieve the parents of worry. 

3. They lessen the responsibility of the teacher. 
Each point should be explained at length in a con- 
vincing way. 

Lesson 1. Choose one of the following, consider it 
carefully and be prepared to give arguments in favor 
of it. 

Written examinations ; Free text books for pupils ; 
Clean streets ; A school athletic field ; Good roads ; Read- 
ing the daily papers. 

Lesson 2. Choose one of the following subjects and 
be prepared to state arguments against it. Make an out- 
line and bring it to class : 

Reading novels ; Sunday baseball ; Killing birds ; Sun- 
day moving pictures ; Written examinations ; Leaving 
school to go to work. 

Lesson 3. Choice of sides. Select one of the fol- 
lowing and consider it carefully. Be prepared to state 
arguments on the affirmative or the negative side. Make 
an outline of your points. 

People should give money to beggars ; Home study ; 
Offering prizes. 

DEBATE 
When arguments on both sides of a question are to 
be given, the subject is called a question for debate. 

Those who speak in favor of a subject as it reads are 

Page Eighteen 



Jocms of pWtl] 



said to be on the Affirmative side of the question and 
those who speak against it are said to be on the Negative 
side. 

Each pupil should try to make clear definite points 
and he should state these points distinctly. 

The teacher should select a pupil to act as chairman 
and during the debate he should always be addressed as 
Mr. Chairman. At the opening of the debate the chair- 
man arises and says The sub- 
ject of the debate is The 

debaters today are 

Affirmative ; and , , 

Negative. Each speaker is allowed five minutes and 
three minutes will be allowed for refutation ; the speaker 
must stop when time is called. 

The first speaker on the Affirmative is 

The first speaker comes forward and addresses the chair: 
"Mr. Chairman, honorable judges, worthy opponents, and 
friendly classmates, the question for debate is 'Resolved, 
that ' We, the Affirma- 
tive, believe that it is and will endeavor to prove it to 
you." 

After the first speaker has concluded his argument 
the Chairman announces : "The first speaker for the 

Negative is " The Negative 

speaker comes forward and addresses the Chair the same 
way as the first speaker on the Affirmative ; this order 
continues until all of the speakers on each side have 
spoken. 

Each leader is allowed to speak twice, the Negative 
leader speaking first. The second time he tries to refute 
the arguments presented by his opponents and for this 
reason the second speech is called a refutation. 

The refutation is for the purpose of answering the 
points made by the opponents and it is not expected that 
any new arguments will be presented in this part of the 
debate. Each speaker in closing his refutation may say 
something like this: "Since I have shown (repeating his 
original arguments) and since I have refuted the argu- 
ments that (giving arguments refuted) I maintain that it 
is ( is not) 

In preparing material for a debate a brief should he 
constructed and when given orally this brief may be 
as notes. 

Page Nineteen 



^Joems of piortfy 



A brief is an outline that contains all of the reason 
ing to be found in the finished argument. Divide the 
brief into three parts and mark them "Introduction,'' 
"Discussion" and "Conclusion." 

Rules for the Introduction. 

Put into the introduction sufficient explanation for a 
complete understanding of the discussion. This expla- 
nation usually involves — 

1. A definition of terms. 

2. An explanation of the meaning of the ques- 
tion. 

3. A statement of the issues. 

4. Put into the introduction only statements ad- 
mitted by both sides. 

Rules for the Discussion. 

1. Phrase each principal statement in the discus- 
sion so that it will read as a reason for the 
truth or falsity of the question. 

2. Phrase each subordinate statement in the dis- 
cussion so that it will read as a reason for the 
truth of the statement to which it is subordi- 
nate. 

3. The connectives to be used are "as," "be- 
cause," "for" and "since." 

4. Make no unsupported statements unless they 
are generally admitted to be true. 

5. After all evidence state in parenthesis the 
source from which it came. 

6. Phrase refutation so that the argument to be 
answered is clearly stated. 

Rules for the Conclusion 

1. Put into the conclusion a summary of the es- 
sential points established in the discussion. 
An argument should not have an abrupt or 
jerky ending. 

A conclusion should contain no new proof. 
A conclusion should not refer to a point that 
has not already been made. 

A conclusion must reaffirm the question ex- 
actly as stated at the beginning. 

Page Twenty 



•poems of pfortlj 



Select one of the following, consider it carefully, be 
prepared to state arguments on the affirmative or the 
negative side. 

Make an outline of your points. 

Resolved, that country life is better than city life. 

Resolved, that there should be no written examina- 
tions. 

Resolved, that each town or city should provide free 
moving pictures for the school children. 

Resolved, that it is for the interest of a city (town) 
to spend money for schools rather than good roads. 

Resolved, that the ability to speak well in public will 
be of more value to a pupil after he leaves school than 
the ability to Write correctly. 

EXTEMPORANEOUS TALKS 

The plan of an extemporaneous talk corresponds to 
the plot of a stpry or play. 

All such talks should have an Introduction, a Main 
Discussion, and a Conclusion. 

The object of an Introduction is to put the speaker 
on good terms with his audience and awaken interest in 
his theme or proposition. 

Different kinds of talks naturally require more or 
less elaboration of the main Discussion, but it is best 
to arrange all facts and incidents in the order of their 
happening. 

Every talk should be rounded out in the conclusion so 
that it does not stop short, and leave an unfinished im- 
pression. 

Make an outline and be prepared to talk on one of 
the following subjects : 

The life of Theodore Roosevelt. 
The life of Frances Willard. 
The Life of Florence Nightingale. 
The History of the Steel Industry. 
The Story of Electricity. 



FAN 1UM1ME 

Any play in which the actors express their meaning 
by action without dialogue is called a pantomime, or 
nas/eant. 



Page Twenty-one 



Querns of JHforilj 



Allow the pupils to use their originality in this work. 
Good suggestions for pantomimes are : 
A school room scene; An orchestra; A choir; A mu- 
sic lesson; A Red Cross relief scene; A famous painting. 

EXTEMPORANEOUS PLAYS 

After the pupils have learned to act without words 
they can readily use their own words and make up sim- 
ple plots in the form of extemporaneous plays. The 
timid student will often forget himself in the excitement 
of such a play when every other means has failed to ac- 
complish this. 

Good suggestions for simple plots are : 

Scenes in a union depot; Scenes in a department 
store ; Scenes in a school-room ; scenes in an employment 
agency. 



Page Twenty-two 



Poems For Oral English 
Department 

In Junior High Schools and High Schools 



Hamlet's Soliloquy 

("Hamlet," Act. III., Scene 1.) 

William Shakespeare 

To be or not to be ; that is the question ; 

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 

And by opposing end them. To die ; to sleep ; 

No more : and, by a sleep to say we end 

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep ; 

To sleep ? Perchance to dream ! ay, there's the rub ; 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause ; there's the respect 

That makes calamity of so long life: 

For who would bear the whip and scorns of time, 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 

The insolence of office and the spurns 

That patient merit of the unworthy takes 

When he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, 

To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 

But the dread of something after death, 

The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 

No traveler returns, puzzles the will 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have , 

Than fly to others that we know not of? 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 

And thus the native hue of resolution 

Is sickled o'er with the pale cast of thought, 

And enterprises of great pitch and moment, 

With this regard their currents turn awry, 

And lose the name of action. 

Page Twenty-three 



^Joema of pioritj 



The Seven Ages of Man 

("As You Like it.," Act II., Scene 3.) 

William Shakespeare 

All the world's a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players ; 

They have their exits and their entrances; 

And one man in his time plays many parts, 

His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ; 

Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel 

And shining, morning face, creeping like snail 

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 

Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then a soldier 

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 

Seeking the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the Justice, 

In fair round belly with good capon lined, — 

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 

Full of wise saws and modern instances; 

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 

Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, 

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; 

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 

For his shrunk shank ; and his big, manly voice, 

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 

That ends this strange eventful history, 

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion, 

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 



Reputation 

("Othello," Act III., Scene 3.) 

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, 

Is the immediate jewel of their souls; 

Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, 

nothing ; 
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; 
But he, that filches from me my good name, 
Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
And makes me poor indeed. 

Page Twenty-four 



■jJiunus of jUiinrili 



Mercy 

(From "Merchant of Venice," Act. IV., Scene 1.) 
William Shakespeare 
lh'' quality of mercy is not strained; 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice blest, — 
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown : 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 
But mercy is above this sceptred sway, — 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself ; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 
When mercy seasons justice. 



Man 

("Hamlet," Act. II., Scene 2.) 
What a piece of work is man ! 
How noble in reason ! How infinite in faculties ! 
In form and movement, how express and admirable ! 
In action, how like an angel ! In apprehension, how 

like a God ! 
The beauty of the world ! The paragon of animals ! 



Mother O' Mine 

Rudyard Kipling 
If I were hanged on the highest hill, 

Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine, 
I know whose love would follow me still, 

Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine. 

If I were drowned in the deepest sea, 
Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine, 

I know whose tears would come down to me, 
Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine. 

If I were damned of body and soul. 
Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine, 

I know whose prayers would make me whole, 
Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine. 

Page Twenty-five 



^Joems of JUorirf 



Mandalay 

Rudyard Kipling 

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea, 
There's a Burma girl a-settin', an' I know she thinks 

o' me ; 
For the wind is in the palm-trees, an' the temple-bells, 

they say ; 
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to 
Mandalay." 

Come you back to Mandalay, 
Where the old Flotilla lay ; 
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunking from Rangoon to 
Mandalay ? 

On the road to Mandalay, 
Where the flyin'-fishes play, 
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost 
the Bay. 

'Er petticut was yeller an' 'er little cap was green, 

An' her name was Supi-yaw-lat — jes' the same as The- 

baw's Queen, 
An' I seed her fust a-smokin' of a whackin' white 

cheroot, 
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot ; 
Bloomin' idol made o' mud — : 
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd — 
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where 
she stud ! 

On the road to Mandalay. 

When the mist was on the rice fields an' the sun was 

droppin' slow, 
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kullalo-lo," 
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' her cheek agin my 

cheek 
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak. 
Elephants a-pilin' teak 
In the sludgy, squdgy creek, 
Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to 
speak ! 

On the road to Mandalay. 

Page Twenty-six 



■}lTninns of 3$ortl| 



But that's all shove be'ind me — long ago an' fur away, 
An' there ain't no 'buses runnin' from the Benk to 

Mandalay ; 
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year 
sodger tells ; 

"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', why, you won't 'eed 
nothin' else." 

No, you won't 'eed nothin' else 
But them spicy garlic smells 
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple- 
bells, 

On the road to Mandalay. 

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones, 
An' the blessed Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my 

bones ; 
Tho I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the 

Strand, 
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they under- 
stand ? 

Beefy face an' grobby 'and — 
Law, wot do they understand? 
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener, land, 
On the road to Mandalay. 

Ship me somewheres east of Suez where the best is like 

the worst, 
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments, an' a man 

can raise a thirst ; 
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would 

be- 
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea — 
On the road to Mandalay, 
Where the old Flotilla lay, 
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to 
Mandalay, 

On the road to Mandalay, 
Where the flyin'-fishes play, 
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost 
the Bay. 

Page Twenty-seven 



^oeme of JHfforitj 



Gunga Din 

Rudyard Kipling 

You may talk o' gin and beer 

When you're quartered safe out 'ere, 

An' you're sent to penny fights an' Aldershot it ; 

But when it comes to slaughter 

You will do your work on water, 

An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it, 

Now in Injia's sunny clime, 

Where I used to spend my time 

A-servin' of 'Er Majesty, the Queen, 

Of all them black-faced crew 

The finest man I knew 

Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din, 

He was "Din, Din, Din, 

You limping lump o' brick dust, Gunga Din, 

Hi, slippery hitherao, 

Water, get it, Panee loa, 

You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din." 

The uniform 'e wore 

Was nothin' much before, 

An' rather less than 'arf o' that behind, 

For a piece o' twisty rag 

An' a goatskin water-bag 

Was all the field-equipment 'e could find, 

When the sweatin' troop-train lay 

In a sidin' through the day, 

Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows 

crawl, 
We shouted "Harry By," 
Till our throats were bricky-dry, 

Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all. 
It was "Din, Din, Din, 

You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been? 
You put some juldee in it 
Or I'll marrow you this minute 
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din." 

'E would dot an' carry one 

Till the longest day was done; 

An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear. 

If we charged or broke or cut, 

You could bet your bloomin' nut, 

'E 'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. 

Page Twenty-eight 



^limits of Purify 



With is mussick on 'is back, 

'E would skip with our attack, 

An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire," 

An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 

'E was white, clear white, inside 

When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire ; 

It was "Din, Din, Din," 

With the bullets kickin' dust spots on the green, 

When the cartridges ran out, 

You could hear the front-files shout, 

"Hi, ammunition — mules an' Gunga Din." 

I shan't forgit the night 

When I dropped be'ind the fight 

With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been. 

I was chokin' mad with thirst, 

An' the man that spied me first 

Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din. 

'E lifted up my 'ead, 

An' he plugged me where I bled, 

An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green ; 

It was crawlin' and it stunk, 

But of all the drinks I've drunk, 

I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din, 

It was "Din, Din, Din," 

'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen ; 

'E's chawin' up the ground, 

An' 'e's kickin' all around ; 

For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din. 

'E carried me away 

To where a dooli lay, 

An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean, 

'E put me safe inside, 

An' just before 'e died ; 

"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din. 

So I'll meet 'im later on 

At the place where 'e is gone — 

Where it's always double drill and no canteen ; 

'E r ll be squattin' on the coals, 

Given drink to poor damned souls, 

An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din. 

Yes, Din, Din. Din. 

Though I've belted you and flayed you, 

By tin- living God that made you, 

You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din. 

Page Twenty-nine 



•poema of pJortfy 



When Earth's Last Picture is Painted 

Rudyard Kipling 

When earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are 

twisted and dried, 
When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest 

critic has died, 
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it — lie down for 

an aeon or two, 
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall set us to 

work anew. 

And those that were good shall be happy; they shall sit 

in a golden chair; 
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of 

comets' hair; 
They shall find real saints to draw from — Magdalene, 

Peter, and Paul ; 
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be 
• tired at all. 

And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master 

shall blame; 
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work 

for fame ; 
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his 

separate star, 
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things 

as They Are. 



If 

Rudyard Kipling 

If you can keep your head when all about you 

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you ; 
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 

But make allowance for their doubting too ; 
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, 
Or being hated don't give way to hating, 

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; 

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master 
If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim, 

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster 
And treat those two imposters just the same; 

Page Thirty 



^ocrns of pJortfy 



I f you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken 
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, 
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools; 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings 

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 
And lose, and start again at your beginnings, 

And never breathe a word about your loss; 
I f you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 

To serve your turn long after they are gone, 
And so hold on when there is nothing in you 

Except the Will which says to them : "Hold on !" 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, 

Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch, 
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, 

If all men count with you, but none too much; 
If you can fill the unforgiving minute 

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, 
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, 

And — which is more — you'll be a Man, my son ! 



Verses of Friendship and Faith 

Henry Van Dyke 
Four Things 

Four things a man must learn to do 
If he would make his record true; 
To think without confusion clearly; 
To love his fellow-men sincerely ; 
To act from honest motives purely ; 
To trust in God and Heaven securely. 

Tin; Prison and the Angel 

Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul ; 
Love is the only angel who can bid the gates unroll; 
And when he conies to call thee, arise and follow fast; 
His way may lie through darkness, but it leads to 
light at last. 

The Way 

Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul, 
May keep the path, but will not reach the goal; 
While he who walks in love may wander far, 
But God will bring him where the Blessed are. 

Page Thirty-one 



foetus of JHUnrtrr 



The Arrow 

Life is an arrow therefore you must know 
What mark to aim at, how to use the bow- 
Then draw it to the head, and let it go. 

If All the Skies 

If all the skies were sunshine, 
Our faces would be fain 
To feel once more upon them 
The cooling splash of rain. 



If all the world were music, 
Our hearts would often long . 
For one sweet strain of silence, 
To break the endless song. 

If life were always merry, 
Our souls would seek relief, 
And rest from weary laughter 
In the quiet arms of grief. 



The Builders 

Henry Van Dyke 

O Thou whose boundless love bestows 
The joy of life, the hope of Heaven; 
Thou whose unchartered mercy flows 
O'er all the blessings Thou hast given. 
Thou by whose light alone we see; 
Thou by whose truth our souls set free 
Are made imperishably strong; 
Hear Thou the solemn music of our song. 

Grant us the knowledge that we need 

To solve the questions of the mind ; 

Light Thou our candle while we read, 

And keep our hearts from going blind ; 

Enlarge our vision to behold 

The wonders Thou hast wrought of old; 

Reveal thyself in every law, 

And gild the towers of truth with holy awe. 

Be Thou our strength when war's wild gust 
Rages around us, loud and fierce ; 
Confirm our souls and let our trust 
Be like a wall that none can pierce ; 

Page Thirty-two 



"Poems of piortl] 



Give us the courage that prevails, 
The steady faith that never fails, 
Help us to stand in every fight 
Firm as a fortress to defend the right. 

O God. make of us what Thou wilt; 
( ruide Thou the labour of our hand ; 
Let all our work be surely built 
As Thou, the architect, hast planned; 
But whatsoe'er thy power shall make 
"Of these frail lives, do not forsake 
Thy dwelling. Let thy presence rest 
Forever in the temple of our breast. 



America for Me 

Henry Van Dyke 

'Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down 

Among the famous palaces and cities of renown, 

To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the 

kings — 
But now 1 think I've had enough of antiquated things. 

So it's home again, and home again, America for me, 
My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be, 
In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean 

bars, 
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full 

of stars. 

Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air ; 
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair ; 
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to 

study Rome ; 
Hut when it comes to living there is no place like home. 

I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled; 
I like the garden of Versailles with flashing fountains 

filled; 
But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a 

day 
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her 

way. 

Page Thirty-three 



Poems of JSIorilj 



I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to 

lack: 
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking 

back. 
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free, — 
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be. 

Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me. 
I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the 

rolling sea, 
To the blessed Land of Room Enough beyond the 

ocean bars, 
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of 

stars. 



Solitude 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox 

Laugh and the world laughs with you ; 

Weep, and you weep alone. 
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, 

But has trouble enough of its own. 
Sing, and the hills will answer; 

Sigh, it is lost on the air. 
The echoes bound to a joyful sound, 

But shrink fom voicing care. 

Rejoice, and men will find you ; 

Grieve, and they turn and go. 
They want full measure of all your pleasure, 

But they do not need your woe. 
Be glad, and your friends are many ; 

Be sad, and you lose them all, 
There are none to decline your nectared wine, 

But alone you must drink life's gall. 

Feast, and your halls are crowded ; 

Fast, and the world goes by. 
Succeed and give, and it helps you live, 

But no man can help you die. 
There is room in the halls of pleasure 

For a long and lordly train, 
But one by one we must all file on 

Through the narrow aisles of pain. 

Page Thirty-four 



Jfoena of •ffiorilj 



My Ships 
Ella Wheeler Wilcox 

If all the ships I have at sea — 

Should come a-sailing home to me, 
Ali well, the harbor could not hold 
So many ships as there would be, 
It all my ships came home to me. 

If half my ships now out at sea 
Should come a-sailing home to me, 
Ah well, 1 should have wealth as great 
As any king that sits in state, 
So rich the treasure there would be 
In half my ships now out at sea. 

If but one ship I have at sea 

Should come a-sailing home to me, 

Ah well, the storm clouds then might frown, 

For if the others all went down, ' 

Still rich and glad and proud I'd be, 

If that one ship came home to me. 

If that one ship went down at sea, 

And all the others came to me, 

Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, 

Of riches, glory, honor, gold, 

The poorest soul on earth I'd be, 

If that one ship came not to me; 

Oh, skies, be calm ; oh, winds, blow free, 
Blow all my ships safe home to me; 
But if thou sendest some awrack, 
To never more come sailing back, 
Send any — all that skim the sea, 
But send my love ship back to me. 



Smile 

Arthur Chamberlain 

When everything goes crooked, 
\nd seems inclined to rile, 
Don't kick nor fuss nor fight ; 
Just you smile. 

Page Thirty- five 



Joeing of ptortl] 



It's hard to learn the lesson 
But learn it if you'd win, 
When people tease and pester, 
Just you grin. 

But when someone tries to do you 
By taking more than half, 
Be patient, firm and pleasant, 
Just you laugh. 

But if you find you're stuffy, 
Sometimes of course you will. 
And cannot smile, or grin, or laugh 
Just keepi still. 



Thanatopsis 

(From the Poem.) 

William Cullen Bryant 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan which moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch . 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 



The Flower of Mending 

Vachel Lindsay 

When dragon-fly would fix his wings, 

When snail would patch his house, 

When moths have marred the over-coat 

Of tender Mister Mouse, 

The pretty creatures go with haste 

To the sunlit blue-grass hills 

Where the Flower of Mending yields the wax 

And webs to help their ills. 

The hour the coats are waxed, and webbed, 

They fall into a dream, 

And when they wake the ragged robes 

Are joined without a seam. 

Page Thirty-six 



ijJJoems of 339orth 

My heart is but a dragon fly, 

My heart is but a mouse, 

My heart is but a haughty snail, 

In a little stony house, 

Your hand was honey-comb to heal, 

Your voice a web to bind, 

You were a Mending Flower to me, 

To cure my heart and mind. 



Trees 

Joyce Kilmer 
I think that I shall never see 
A poem as lovely as a tree. 

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest 
Against the earth's sweet growing breast. 

A tree who looks at God all day 
And lifts its leafy arms to pray, 

A tree who may in summer wear 
A nest of robins in her hair 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain, 
Who intimately lives with rain. 

Poems were made by fools like me, 
But only God could make a tree. 



Roofs 

Joyce Kilmer 

The road is wide and the stars are out and the breath of 
night is sweet, 

And this is the time when wanderlust should seize upon 
my feet. 

Rut I'm glad to turn from the open road and the star- 
light on my face, 

And leave the splendor of out-of-doors for a human 
dwelling place. 

I never have known a vagabond who really liked to roam. 
All up and down the streets of the wOrld and never have 

a home, 
The tramp who slept in your barn last night and left at 

the break of day 
Will wander on until he finds another place to stay. 

Page Thirty-seven 



Poems of JUorirf 



The Gipsy man sleeps in his cart with canvas overhead, 
Or else he crawls into a tent when it is time for bed, 
He will take his ease upon the grass as long as the sun 

is high 
But when it is dark he wants a roof to keep away the 

sky. 

If you will call the Gipsy a vagabond I think you do 

him wrong, 
For he never goes a-traveling but he takes his home along. 
And the only reason a road is good, as every wanderer 

knows, 
Is just because of the homes, the homes, the homes to 

which it goes. 

They say life is a highway and its milestones are the 

years, 
And now and then there's a toll-gate where you pay your 

way with tears, 
It's a rough road and a steep road and it stretches broad 

and far, 
But it leads at last to a Golden Town where Golden 

Houses are. 



The House with Nobody in It 

Joyce Kilmer 

Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track 

I go by a poor old farm-house with its shingles broken 

and black 
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always 

stop for a minute 
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with 

nobody in it. 

I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are 
such things ; 

That they hold the talk of spirits their mirth and sor- 
rowings. 

I know that house isn't haunted and I wish it were I do, 

For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two. 

This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes 

of glass, 
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe 

to the grass. 

Page Thirty-eight 



ijjlocnts of 33Harth 



Jt needs new paint and shingles and vines should be 

trimmed and tied, 
But what it needs most of all is some people living inside. 

If 1 had a bit of money and all my debts were paid 

I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and 

spade. 
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way that it used 

to be, 
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give 

it to them free. 

Xiiw a new home standing empty with staring window 

and door, 
Looks idle perhaps and foolish, like a hat on its block in 

the store. 
But there's nothing mournful about it, it cannot be sad 

and lone 
For the lack of something within it that it has never 

known. 

But a house that has done what a house should do a 

house that has sheltered life, 
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and 

his wife, 
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and helped up 

his stumbling feet, 
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your 

eyes could meet. 

So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track 

I never go by the empty house without stopping and 

looking back. 
\ et it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the 

shutters fallen apart, 
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house 

with a broken heart. 



Afterglow 

Angela Morgan 

When the hills came down to drink 
From the twilight's purple well, 
At the valley's tender brink, 
Ere they huddle close to rest, 
Shineth Venus from the west. 



Page Thirty-nine 



^jioema of ;HJartIj 



When the hills come down to taste 

Of the mellow afterglow, 

Softly, softly, without haste, 

Making music as they go, 

Faint and rhythmically slow, 

Earth is all a shadowed pool 

Where the soul may drink its fill : 

Where the fretful human will 

In the darkness and the cool 

Seeth Venus like a flower 

Hanging silver in the west, 

Swinging in her saffron tower, 

Calling, calling like a bell. 

And the heart may find its rest; 

Deeply knowing all is well. 



Ring Out Wild Bells 

Alfred Tennyson 

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
The flying cloud, the frosty light : 
The year is dying in the night; 
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
Ring, happy bells, across the snow: 
The year is going, let him go; 
Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 
Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
And ancient forms of paltry strife ; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 
With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times ; 
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 
But ring the fuller minstrel in. 

Page Forty 



■jLWntJ uf oBtfrtb 



Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
The civic slander and the spite; 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 
Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring nut old shapes of foul disease; 
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old, 
Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free, 
The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
King out the darkness of the land, 
Ring in the Christ that is to be. 



The Bugle Song 

Alfred Tennyson 

The splendor falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story ; 

The long light shakes across the lakes, 

And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 

Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O hark, O hear, how thin and clear, 

And thinner, clearer, farther going, 

O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, 

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing, 

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying; 

Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

O love, they die in yon rich sky, 

They faint on hill, or field, or river; 

Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 

And grow forever and forever. 

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 

And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 



Crossing the Bar 
Alfred Tkxnvson 

Sunset and evening star, 

And one clear call for me, 
And may there be no moaning at the bar. 

When I put out to sea. 

Page Forty-one 



•Querns of JSJorilj 



But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 

Too full for sound and foam, 
When that which drew from out the boundless deep 

Turns again home. 

Twilight and evening bell, 

And after that the dark, 
And may there be no sadness of farewell, 
When I embark; 

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place 
The flood may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
When I have crossed the bar. 



Nobility 

Alice Cary 

True worth is in being, not seeming, 
In doing, each day that goes by 

Some little good — not in dreaming 
Of great things to do by and by. 

For whatever men say in blindness 
And spite of the fancies of youth, 

There's nothing so kingly as kindness 
And nothing so royal as truth. 

We get back our mete as we measure, 
We cannot do wrong and feel right, 

Nor can we give pain and gain pleasure, 
For justice avenges each slight. 

The air for the wing of the sparrow, 
The bush for the robin and wren, 

But always the path that is narrow 

And straight for the children of men. 

'Tis not in the pages of story 

The heart of its ills to beguile 
Though he who makes courtship to glory 

Gives all that he hath for her smile. 

For when from her heights he hath won her, 

Alas ! it is only to prove , 
That nothing's so sacred as honor, 

And nothing so loyal as love. 

Page Forty-two 



llWnts nf IHnrtft 



We cannot make bargains for blisses, 
Nor catch them like fishes in nets, 

And sometimes the thing onr life misses 
Helps more than the thing which it gets. 

For good lieth not in pursuing 

Nor gaining of great nor of small, 
I'.ut jnst in the doing and doing 
As we would be done by, by all. 

Through envy, through malice, through hating 
Against the world, early and late, 

No jot of our courage abating, 
Our part is to work and to wait. 

And slight is the sting of his trouble 

Whose winnings are less than his worth, 

For he who is honest is noble 
Whatever his fortune or birth. 



November 

Alice Cary 



The leaves are fading and falling, 

The winds are rough and wild, 
The birds have ceased their calling, 
But let me tell you, my child, 

Though day by day, as it closes 
Doth darker and colder grow, 

The roots of the bright red roses 
Will keep alive in the snow. 

And when the winter is over, 
The boughs will get new leaves, 

The quail come back to the clover, 
And the swallow back to the eaves. 

The robin will wear on his bosom 
A vest that is bright and new, 

.And the loveliest way-side blossom 
Will shine with the sun and dew. 

The leaves today are whirling. 
The brooks are all dry and dumb, 

Hut let me tell you, my darling, 
The spring will be sure to come. 



Page Forty-three 



•Jloems of piorih 



There must be rough, cold weather, 
And winds and rains so wild ; 

Not all good things together 
Come to us here, my child. 

So, when some dear joy loses 
Its beauteous summer glow, 

Think how the roots of the roses, 
Are kept alive in the snow. 



The Poet and His Song 

Paul Laurence Dunbar 

A song is but a little thing, 

And yet what joy it is to sing ! 

In hours of toil it gives me zest, 

And when at eve I long for rest ; 

When cows come home along the bars, 

And in the fold I hear the bell, 

As Night, the shepherd, herds his stars, 

I sing my song, and all is well. 

There are no ears to hear my lays, 
No lips to lift a word of praise ; 
But still, with faith unfaltering, 
I live and laugh and love and sing. 
What matters yon unheeding throng? 
They cannot feel my spirit's spell, 
Since life is sweet and love is long, 
I sing my song and all is well. 

My days are never days of ease; 
I till my ground and prune my trees. 
When ripened gold is all the plain, 
I put my sickle to the grain. 
I labor hard, and toil and sweat, 
While others dream within the dell ; 
But even while my brow is wet, 
I sing my song, and all is well. 

Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot, 
My garden makes a desert spot; 
Sometimes a blight upon the trees 
Takes all my fruit away from me: 
And then with throes of bitter pain 
Rebellious passions rise and swell ; 
But — life is more than fruit or grain, 
And so I sing, and all is well. 

Page Forty-four 



TJimus of JBUortlj 



In Flanders Fields 

Lieut. Colonel John McCrae 

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow 
Between the crosses row on row, 
That mark our place ; and in the sky 
The larks, still bravely singing fly, 
Scarce heard amidst the guns below ; 
We are the dead, short days ago we lived, 
Felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were 
Loved, — and now we lie in Flanders Fields. 
Take up our quarrel with the foe, 
To you from falling hands, we throw 
The torch, be yours to hold it high 
If ye break faith with us who die, 
We shall not sleep tho' poppies blow 
In Flanders Fields. 



Answer of America 

R. W. LlLLARD 

Rest ye in peace 

Ye Flanders dead, 

The fight ye so bravely led 

We have taken up and will keep, 

True faith with ye who lie asleep 

With each a cross to mark his bed 

And poppies blowing over head 

Where once his life's blood ran red 

So let your rest be sweet and deep, 

In Flanders Fields. 

Fear not that ye have died in vain 
The torch ye threw to us was caught ; 
Ten million hands will hold it high 
And Freedom's light shall never die. 
We learned the lesson ye taught 
In Flanders Fields. 



Annabel Lee 

Edgar Allen Poe 

It was many and many a year ago, 
In a kingdom by the sea, 
That a maiden lived, whom you may know- 
Page Forty-five. 



Poems of pJorify 



By the name of Annabel Lee ; 

And this maiden, she lived with no other thought 

Than to love, and be loved by me. 

I was a child and she was a child, 

In this kingdom by the sea ; 

But we loved with a love that was more than love, 

I and my Annabel Lee, 

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that long ago, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 

My beautiful Annabel Lee; 

So that her high-born kinsmen came, 

And bore her away from me, 

To shut her up in a sepulchre, 

In this kingdom by the sea. 

The angels, not so happy in heaven, 

Went envying her and me, 

Yes! that was the reason (as all men know) 

In this kingdom by the sea, 

That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love, 

Of those who were older than we, 

Of many far wiser than we ; 

And neither the angels, in heaven above, 

Nor the demons down under the sea, 

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 



For the moon never beams without bringing me 

dreams 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 
And so, air the night-tide I lie down by the side 
Of my darling, my darling, my life, and my bride, 
In her sepulchre there by the sea, 
In her tomb by the sounding sea. 

Page Forty-six 



^.Iunns of J0JortI| 



Lochinvar 

Sir Walter Scott 

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; 
And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none, 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone^ 

He swam the Eske River where ford there was none, 

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all. 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), 

"O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" 

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; — 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide, — 
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine ; 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 

The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up, 
He quaffed off the wine, and threw down the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh. 
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye, 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
"Now tread we a measure," said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, so lovely her face, 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
While her mother did fret, and her-»father did fume, 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 

plume ; 
And the bridesmaidens whispered, "'Twere better by far 
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 

Page Forty-seven 



•jfJoems of piorilj 



One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 
When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood 

near; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung; 
"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scaur; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 

Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby 

clan ; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they 

ran; 
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea, 
But the lost bride of Netherby, ne'er did they see, 
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war; 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? 



O Captain! My Captain! 

Walt Whitman 

O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, 

The ship has weather'd every wrack, the prize we sought 

is won, 
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, 
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and 

daring ; 

But O heart ! heart ! heart ! 

O the bleeding drops of red, 
Where on the deck my Captain lies, 

Fatten cold and dead. 

O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; 

Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle 

trills, 
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the 

shores a-crowding, 
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces 

turning ; 

Here, Captain ! dear father ! 

This arm beneath your head ! 
It is some dream that on the deck 

You've fallen cold and dead. 

Page Forty-eight 



^Joems of 3$orilj 



My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, 
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, 
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed 

and done, 
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object 

won ; 

Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells! 

But I with mournful tread, 
Walk the deck my Captain lies, 

Fallen cold and dead. 



The First Snowfall 

James Russell Lowell 

The snow had begun in the gloaming, 
And busily all the night 
Had been heaping field and highway 
With a silence deep and white. 

Every pine and fir and hemlock 
Wore ermine too dear for an earl, 
And the poorest twig on the elm tree 
Was ridged inch deep with pearl. 

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara 
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow; 
The stiff rails softened to swan's down 
And still fluttered down the snow. 

I stood and watched by the window ' 
The noiseless work of the sky, 
And the sudden flurries of snowbirds, 
Like brown leaves whirling by. 

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn, 
Where a little headstone stood ; 
How the flakes were folding it gently, 
As did robins the Babes in the Wood. 

Up spake our own little Mabel, 
Saying, "Father, who made the snow?" 
And 1 told her of the good All-Father 
Who cares for us here below. 

Page Forty-nine 



•Jloems of JOSIortl] 



Again I looked at the snow-fall, 
And I thought of the leadened sky 
That arched o'er our first great sorrow, 
When the mound was heaped so high. 

I remembered the gradual patience 
That fell from the cloud like snow, 
Flake by flake, healing and hiding 
The scars that renewed our woe. 

And again to the child I whispered, 
"The snow that husheth all, 
Darling, the merciful Father 
Alone can make it fall !" 

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her 
And she, kissing back, could not know 
That my kiss was given to her sister, 
Folded close under deepening snow. 



Barbara Frietchie 

John Greenleaf W hitter 

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand, 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep, 

Fair as a garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of that famished rebel hoard, 

On that pleasant morn of early fall 

When Lee marched over the mountain-wall ; 

Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind ; the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Page Fifty 



^ocms of Jllmth 



Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bowed with her forescore years and ten; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She took up the flag the men hauled down ; 

In her attic window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouch hat left and right 
He glanced ; the old flag met his sight. 

"Halt!" the dust brown ranks stood fast; 
"Fire!" out blazed the rifle-blast. 

It shivered the window pane and sash ; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick as it fell from the broken staff 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. 

She leaned far out of the window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a flush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came : 

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at that woman's deed and word: 

"Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog ! March on !" he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet : 

All day long that free flag tost 
Over the head of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night. 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Page Fifty-one 



Immune of portly 



Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave 
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave! 

Peace and order and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law : 

And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town. 



The Barefoot Boy 

John Greenleaf Whittier 

Blessings on thee, little man, 

Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 

With thy turned-up pantaloons, 

And thy merry whistled tunes ; 

With thy red lips, redder still, 

Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; 

With the sunshine on thy face, 

Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace: 

From my heart I give thee joy; 

I was once a barefoot boy ! 

Prince thou art, the grown-up man 

Only is republican. 

Let the million-dollared ride, 

Barefoot, trudging at his side, 

Thou hast more than he can buy, 

In the reach of ear and eye : 

Outward sunshine, inward joy, 

Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! 

Oh, for boyhood's painless play ; 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day; 
Health that mocks the doctor's rules; 
Knowledge (never learned of schools), 
Of the wild bee's morning chase, 
Of the wild flower's time and place, 
Flight of fowl, and habitude 
Of the tenants of the wood ; 
How the tortoise bears his shell, 
How the woodchuck digs his cell, 
And the groundmole sinks his well ; 
How the robin feeds her young, 
How the oriole's nest is hung, 

Page Fifty-two 



•jjWms of BllnrtlT 



Where the whitest lilies blow, 

Where the freshest berries grow, 

Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 

Where the wood-grape's clusters shine, 

Of the black wasp's cunning way, 

Mason of his walls of clay, 

And the architectural plans 

Of gray-hornet artisans! 

For, eschewing books and tasks, 

Nature answers all he asks ; 

Hand in hand with her he walks, 

Face to face with her he talks, 

Part and parcel of her joy, 

Blessings on thee barefoot boy ! 

Oh, for boyhood's time of June, 
Crowding years in one brief moon, 
When all things I heard or saw, 
Me, their master, waited for; 
I was rich in flowers and trees, 
Humming-birds and honeybees ; 
For my sport the squirrel played, 
Plied the snouted mole his spade ; 
For my taste the blackberry cone 
Purpled over hedge and stone ; 
Laughed the brook for my delight 
Through the day and through the night, 
Whispering at the garden wall, 
Talked with me from fall to fall ; 
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 
Mine the walnut slopes beyond, 
Mine, on bending orchard trees, 
Apples of Hesperides ! 
Still, as my horizon grew, 
Larger grew my riches too ; 
All the world I saw or knew 
Seemed a complex Chinese toy, 
Fashioned for a barefoot boy! 

Oh for festal dainties spread, 
Like my bowl of milk and bread, 
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, 
On the doorstone gray and rude! 
O'er me like a regal tent, 
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, 

Page Fifty- three 



Poems of piorilj 



Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 
Looped in many a wind-Swung fold ; 
While for music came the play 
Of the pied frog's orchestra; 
And, to light the noisy choir, 
Lit the fly his lamp of fire; 
I was monarch : pomp and joy 
Waited on the barefoot boy ! 

Cheerily, then, my little man, 
Live and laugh as boyhood can, 
Though the flinty slopes be hard, 
Stubble-spread the new-mown sward, 
Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew ; 
Every evening from thy feet 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat. 
All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison-cells of pride, 
Lose the freedom of the sod, 
Like a colt for work be shod, 
Made to tread the mills of toil 
Up and down in ceaseless moil ; 
Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground, 
Happy if they sink not in 
Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 
Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy 
Ere it passes, Barefoot Boy ! 



Opportunity 

Sir Walter Scott 
Master of Human Destinies am I, 
Fame, Love, and Fortune on my footsteps wait 
Cities and Fields I walk; I penetrate 
Deserts and seas remote and passing by 
Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late 
I knock unbidden once at every gate; 
If sleeping, wake ; if feasting rise before 
I turn away. It is the hour of fate, 
And they who follow me reach every state 
Mortals desire, and conquer every foe 
Save Death; but those who doubt or hesitate, 
Condemned to failure, penury, and woe, 
Seek me in vain, uselessly implore, 
I answer not and I return no more. 

Page Fifty-four 



"Poems of pfortlj 



The Blue and the Gray 

Francis Miles Finch 

By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
Where the blades of the grave grass quiver, 

Asleep are the ranks of the dead, 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day — 
Under the one, the Blue; 

Under the other, the Gray. 

Ihcse in the robings of glory; 

Those in the gloom of defeat; 
All, with the battle blood gory, 

In the dusk of eternity meet. 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day — 
Under the laurel, the Blue; 

Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful houis 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers, 

Alike for the friend and the foe, 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day — 
Under the roses, the Blue ; 

Under the lilies the Gray. 

So, with an equal splendor, 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
With a touch impartially tender 

On the blossoms blooming for all, 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day : 
Broidered with gold, the Blue ; 

Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth 

On forest and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth • 

The cooling drip of the rain, 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day : 
Wet with the rain, the Blue; 

Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

Page Fifty-five 



;jj§aems of Ploril] 



Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done; 
In the storm of the years that are fading, 

No braver battle was won; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day : 
Under the blossoms, the Blue; 

Under the garlands the Gray. 

No more shall the war-cry sever, 

Or the winding rivers be red ; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead. 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day — 
Love and tears for the Blue; 

Tears and love for the Gray. 



Daybreak 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

A wind came up out of the sea, 
And said, "O mists, make room for me." 
It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, 
Ye mariners, the night is gone." 

And hurried landward far away, 
Crying, "Awake ! it is the day." 
It said unto the forest, "Shout! 
Hang all your leafy banners out !" 

It touched the woodbird's folded wing, 
And said, "O bird, awake and sing," 
And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer, 
Your clarion blow ; the day is near." 

It whispered to the fields of corn, 
•"Bow down, and hail the coming morn." 
It shouted through the belfry-tower, 
"Awake, O bell ! proclaim the hour." 

It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, 
And said, "Not yet ; in quiet lie." 

Page Fifty-six 



^poerna of piortlj 



Hiawatha's Wooing 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

"As unto the bow the cord is, 

So unto the man is woman, 

Though she bends him, she obeys him, 

Though she draws him, yet she follows, 

Useless each without the other!" 

Thus the youthful Hiawatha 
Said within himself and pondered, 
Much perplexed by various feelings, 
Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, 
Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 
Of the lovely Laughing Water, 
In the land of the Dacotahs. 

"Wed a maiden of your people," 
Warning said the old Nokomis ; 
"Go not eastward, go not westward, 
For a stranger, whom we know not ! 
Like a fire upon the hearth-stone 
Is a neighbor's homely daughter, 
Like the starlight or the moonlight 
Is the handsomest of strangers!" 

Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, 
And my Hiawatha answered 
Only this : "Dear old Nokomis, 
Very pleasant is the firelight, 
But I like the starlight better, 
Better do I like the moonlight !" 

Gravely then said old Nokomis : 
"Bring not here an idle maiden, 
Bring not here a useless woman, 
Hands unskilful, feet unwilling; 
Bring a wife with nimble fingers, 
Heart and hand that move together, 
Feet that run on willing errands !" 

Smiling answered Hiawatha : 
"In the land of the Dacotahs 
Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Handsomest of all the women. 

Page Fifty-seven 



^poema of piortlj 



I will bring her to your wigwam, 
She shall run upon your errands, 
Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, 
Be the sunlight of my people !" 

Still dissuading said Nokomis: 
"Bring not to my lodge a stranger 
From the land of the Dacotahs ! 
Very fierce are the Dacotahs, 
Often is there war between us, 
There are feuds yet unforgotten, 
Wounds that ache and still may open 

Laughing answered Hiawatha : 
"For that reason, if no other, 
Would I wed the fair Dacotah, 
That our tribes might be united, 
That old feuds might be forgotten, 
And old wounds be healed forever !" 

Thus departed Hiawatha 
To the land of the Dacotahs, 
To the land of handsome women ; 
Striding over moor and meadow, 
Through interminable forests, 
Through uninterrupted silence. 

With his moccasins of magic, 
At each stride a mile he measured ; 
Yet the way seemed long before him, 
And his heart outrun his footsteps; 
And he journeyed without resting, 
Till he heard the cataract's thunder, 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to him through the silence. 
"Pleasant is the sound!" he murmured, 
"Pleasant is the voice that calls me !" 

On the outskirts of the forest, 
'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, 
Herds of fallow deer were feeding, 
But they saw not Hiawatha ; 
To his bow he whispered, "Fail not!" 
To his arrow whispered, "Swerve not!" 
Sent it singing on its errand, 
To the red heart of the roebuck; 

Page Fifty eight 



•jUocms of JHnrth 



Threw the deer across his shoulder, 
And sped forward without pausing. 

At the doorway of his wigwam 

Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, 

In the land of the Dacotahs, 

Making arrow-heads of jasper, 

Arrow-heads of chalcedony. 

At his side, in all her beauty, 

Sat the lovely Minnehaha, 

Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, 

Plaiting mats of flags and rushes; 

Of the past the old man's thoughts were, 

And the maiden's of the future. 

He was thinking, as he sat there, 
Of the days when with such arrows 
He had struck the deer and bison, 
On the Muskoday, the meadow; 
Shot the wild goose, flying southward, 
On the wing, the clamorous Wawa; 
Thinking of the great war-parties, 
How they came to buy his arrows, 
Could not fight without his arrows. 
Ah, no more such noble warriors 
Could be found on earth as they were! 
Now the men were all like women, 
Only used their tongues for weapons ! 

She was thinking of a hunter, 
From another tribe and country, 
Young and tall and very handsome, 
Who one morning, in the Spring-time, 
Came to buy her father's arrows, 
Sat and rested in the wigwam, 
Lingered long about the doorway, 
Looking back as he departed. 
She had heard her father praise him, 
Praise his courage and his wisdom; 
Would he come again for arrows 
To the Falls of Minnehaha? 
On the mat her hands lay idle, 
And her eyes were very dreamy. 

Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, 
Heard a rustling in the branches, 

Page Fifty-nine 



^Joems of Purify 



And with glowing cheek and forehead, 
With the deer upon his shoulders, 
Suddenly from out the woodlands 
Hiawatha stood before them. 
Straight the ancient Arrow-maker 
Looked up gravely from his labor, 
Laid aside the unfinished arrow, 
Bade him enter at the doorway, 
Saying, as he rose to meet him : 
"Hiawatha, you are welcome !" 

At the feet of Laughing Water 
Hiawatha laid his burden, 
Threw the red deer from his shoulders ; 
And the maiden looked up at him, 
Looked up from her mat of rushes, 
Said with gentle look and accent: 
"You are welcome, Hiawatha !" 

Very spacious was the wigwam, 

Made of deer-skin dressed and whitened, 

And so tall the doorway, hardly 

Hiawatha stooped to enter, 

Hardly touched his eagle-feathers 

As he entered at the doorway. 

Then uprose the Laughing Water, 
From the ground fair Minnehaha, 
Laid aside her mat unfinished, 
Brought forth food and set before them, 
Water brought them from the brooklet, 
Gave them food in earthen vessels, 
Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, 
Listened while the guest was speaking, 
Listened while her father answered, 
But not once her lips she opened, 
Not a single word she uttered. 

Yes, as in a dream she listened 

To the words of Hiawatha, 

As he talked of old Nokomis, 

Who had nursed him in his childhood, 

As he told of his companions, 

Chibiabos, the musician, 

And the very strong man, Kwasind, 

And of happiness and plenty 

Page Sixty 



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In the land of the Ojibways, 

In the pleasant land and peaceful. 

"After many years of warfare, 
Many years of strife and bloodshed, 
There is peace between the Ojibways 
And the tribe of the Dacotahs." 
Thus continued Hiawatha, 
And then added, speaking slowly : 
"That this peace may last forever, 
And our hands be clasped more closely, 
And our hearts be more united, 
Give me as my wife this maiden, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Loveliest of Dacotah women !" 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Paused a moment ere he answered, 
Smoked a little while in silence, 
Looked at Hiawatha proudly, 
Fondly looked at Laughing Water, 
And made answer very gravely : 
"Yes, if Minnehaha wishes; 
Let your heart speak, Minnehaha !" 

And the lovely Laughing Water 
Seemed more lovely, as she stood there, 
Neither willing nor reluctant, 
As she went to Hiawatha, 
Softly took the seat beside him, 
While she said, and blushed to say it, 
"I will follow you, my husband!" 

This was Hiawatha's wooing! 
Thus it was he won the daughter 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs! 

From the wigwam he departed, 
Leading with him Laughing Water; 
Hand in hand they went together, 
Through the woodland and the meadow, 
Left the old man standing lonely 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to them from the distance, 

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Crying to them from afar off : 
"Fare thee well, O Minnehaha!" 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Turned again unto his labor, 
Sat down by his sunny doorway, 
Murmuring to himself, and saying : 
"Thus it is our daughters leave us, 
Those we love, and those who love us ! 
Just when they have learned to help us, 

When we are old and lean upon them, 
Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, 
With his flute of reeds, a stranger 
Wanders piping through the village, 
Beckons to the fairest maiden, 
And she follows where he leads her, 
Leaving all things for the stranger!" 



Christmas Bells 

Hanry Wadsworth Longfellow 

I heard the bells on Christmas Day 

Their old, familiar carols play, 

And wild and sweet 

The words repeat 

Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! 

And thought how, as the day had come, 

The belfries of all Christendom. 

Had rolled along 

The unbroken song 

Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 

And in despair I bowed my head ; 

"There is no peace on earth," I said ; 

"For hate is strong 

And mocks the song 

Of peace on earth, good-will to men !" 

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep : 

"God is not dead ; nor doth He sleep ! 

The Wrong shall fail, 

The Right prevail, 

With peace on earth, good- will to men !" 

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poems of JHfortlj 



The Village Blacksmith 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

Under a spreading chestnut tree 
The village smithy stands; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 
With large and sinewy hands; 
And muscles of his brawny arms 
Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan; 

His brow is wet with honest sweat, 

He earns whate'er he can. 

And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night 

You can hear his bellows blow ; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 

With measured beat and slow, 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 

When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school, 

Look in at the open door ; 

They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys; 

He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice 

Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice 

Singing in Paradise! 

He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 

And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

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foetus of pJortlr 



Toiling, — rejoicing, sorrowing, 
Onward through life he -goes ; 
Each morning sees some task begun, 
Each evening sees it close. 
Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 

For the lesson thou hast taught! 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 

Our fortunes must be wrought ; 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 

Each burning deed and thought ! 



The Day Is Done 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

The day is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night, 

As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist, 
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me 

That my soul cannot resist : 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 

That is not akin to pain, 
And resembles sorrow only 

As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem, 
Some simple and heartfelt lay, 

That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not from the grand old masters, 

Not from the bards sublime, 
Whose distant footsteps echo 

Through the corridors of Time. 

For, like strains of martial music, 
Their mighty thoughts suggest 

Life's endless toil and endeavor ; 
And to-night I long for rest. 

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Read from some humble poet, 

Whose songs gushed from his heart, 

As showers from the clouds of summer, 
Or tears from the eyelids start; 

Who, through long days of labor, 

And nights devoid of ease, 
Still heard in his soul the music 

Of wonderful melodies. 

Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care, 
And come like the benediction 

That follows after prayer. 

And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares, that infest the day, 

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 



The Necklace of Pearls 

11 i:\kv W'adsworth Longfellow 

"Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer re- 
member, 

Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice 

Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its 
left hand, 

And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice 
presided 

Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of 
the people. 

Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the bal- 
ance, 

Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine 
above them. 

But in the course of time the laws of the land were cor- 
rupted ; 

Might took the place of right, and the weak were op- 
pressed, and the mighty 

Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's 
palace 

That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a sus- 
picion 

Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. 

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She, after form of trial, condemned to die on the 

scaffold, 
Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of 

Justice. 
As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, 
Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the 

thunder 
Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from 

its left hand 
Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of 

the balance, 
And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a mag- 
pie, 
Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was 

inwoven." 



The Arrow and the Song 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

I shot an arrow into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For who has sight so keen and strong 
That it can follow the flight of song? 

Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke; 
And the song, from beginning to end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend. 



Song 

Margaret Widdemer 

The Spring will come when the year turns, 
As if no Winter had been, 
But what shall I do with a locked heart 
That lets no new year in ? 

The birds will go when the Fall goes, 
The leaves will fade in the' field, • 
But what shall I do with an old love 
Will neither die nor yield? 

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Oh, youth will turn as the world turns 
And dim grow laughter and pain, 
Bill how shall I hide from an old dream 
I never may dream again ? 



A Man's a Man for A' That 

Robert Burns 

Is there for honest poverty 
That hangs his head, an' a' that? 
The coward slave, we pass him by; 
And dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, an' a' that; 
Our toils obscure, an' a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp 
The man's the gowd for a' that! 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 

Wear hodden-gray, an' a' that; 

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine ; 

A man's a man for a' that, 

For a' that, an' a' that ; 

Their tinsel show, an' a' that; 

The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 

Is king o' men for a' that! 

You see yon birkie ca'ed a lord, 
Wha struts an' stares, an' a' that 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 
He's but a coof for a' that ! 
For a' that, an a' that ; 
His riband, star, an' a' that ; 
The man o' independent mind, 
He looks, and laughs at a' that ! 

A prince can mak' a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, an' a' that: 

Rut an honest man's aboon his might 

Gude faith, he mauna fa' that ! 

For a' that, an' a' that. 

Their dignities, an' a' that, 

The pith o' sense, an" pride o' worth, 

Are higher ranks than a' that ! 

Page Sixty-seven 



•jJJoemB of ^Unrirj 



Then let us pray that come it may 

(As come it will for a' that), 

That sense an' worth, o'er a' the earth, 

May bear the gree, an' a' that! 

For a' that, an' a' that ! 

It's coming yet for a' that 

That man to man, the world o'er 

Shall brothers be for a' that! 



Breathes There a Man With Soul 
So Dead 

Sir Walter Scott 

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 
This is my own, my native land? 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned, 
From wandering on a foreign strand? 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well; 
For him no minstrel raptures swell. 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentered all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 



The Star-Spangled Banner 

Francis Scott Key 

O, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, 
What so proudly we hailed, at the twilight's last gleam- 
ing? 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the peri- 
lous fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly stream- 
ing; ... 
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there : 
O, say, does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? 



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^ocms af 335ortl| 



( >n that shore, dimly seen through the midsts of the deep, 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, 
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, 
Vs it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, 
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream: 
'Tis the Star-Spangled Banner ; O, long may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! 

And where are the foes who so vauntingly swore 
.That the havoc of war, and the battle's confusion, 
A home and a country should leave us no more? 
Their blood has washed out their foul footstep's pollution. 
No refuge could save the hireling and slave 
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave ; 
And the Star- Spangled Banner in triumph doth wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! 

( ), thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation; 
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued 

land 
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a 

nation ! 
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto, "In God is our trust" ; 
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! 



Independence Bell 

(Author Unknown) 

There was a tumult in the city, 
In the quaint old Quaker town, 
And the streets were rife with people 
Pacing restless up and down — 
People gathering at corners, 
Where they whispered each to each, 
And the sweat stood on their temples 
With the earnestness of speech. 

As the bleak Atlantic currents 
Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, 
So they beat against the State-House, 
So they surged against the door ; 

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^Dcma of ^Uorirj 



And the mingling of their voices 
Made a harmony profound, 
Till the quiet street of Chestnut 
Was all turbulent with sound. 

"Will they do it?" "Dare they do it?" 
"Who is speaking?" "What's the news?" 
"What of Adams?" "What of Sherman?" 
"Oh, God grant they won't refuse !" 
"Make some way there !" "Let me nearer !" 
"I am stifling !" "Stifle, then ! 
When a nation's life's at hazard, 
We've no time to think of men !" 

So they beat against the portal, 
Man and woman, maid and child ; 
And the July sun in heaven 
On the scene looked down and smiled. 
The same sun that saw the Spartan 
Shed his patriot blood in vain, 
Now beheld the soul of freedom, 
All unconquered, rise again. 

See. ! See ! The dense crowd quivers 
Through all its lengthy line, 
As the boy beside the portal 
Looks forth to give the sign ! 
With his little hands uplifted, 
Breezes dallying with his hair, 
Hark ! with deep, clear intonation, 
Breaks his young voice on the air. 

Hushed the people's swelling murmur, 

List the boy's exultant cry ! 

"Ring!" he shouts, "Ring! grandpa, ' 

Ring ! Oh, ring for Liberty !" 

Quickly at the given signal 

The old bellman lifts his hand, 

Forth he sends the good news, making 

Iron music through the land. 

How they shouted ! What rejoicing ! 
How the old bell shook the air, 
Till the clang of freedom ruffled 
The calmly-gliding Delaware ! 

Page Seventy 



Poems of pJortlj 



How the bonfires and the torches 
Lighted up the night's repose, 
And from the flames, like fabled Phoenix, 
Our glorious Liberty arose ! 

That old State House bell is silent, 

Hushed is now its clamorous tongue ; 

But the spirit it awakened 

Still is living, ever young; 

And when we greet the smiling sunlight 

On the fourth of each July, 

We will ne'er forget the bellman 

Who, betwixt the earth and sky, 

Rung out loudly, "Independence"; 

Which, please God, shall never die ! 



How Did You Die? 

Edmund Vance Cooke 

Did you tackle the trouble that came your way, 

With a resolute heart and cheerful? 
Or hide your face from the light of day, 

With a craven soul and fearful? 
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce, 

Or a trouble is what you make it: 
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, 

But, only, how did you take it? 

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that? 

Come up with a smiling face. 
It's nothing against you to fall down flat, 

But to lie there — that's the disgrace. 
The harder you're thrown, why, the higher you bounce; 

Be proud of your blackened eye ! 
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts; 

It's how did you fight — and why? 

And though you be done to death, what then? 

If you battled the best you could, 
If you played your part in the world of men, 

Why, the Critic will call it good. 
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce, 

And whether he's slow or spry, 
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, 

But only how did you die? 

Page Seventy-one 



^Joem© ai Purify 



Somebody's Mother 

(Selected) 

The woman was old and ragged and gray, 
And bent with the chill of the winter's day ; 
The street was wet with a recent snow, 
And the woman's feet were aged and slow. 

She stood at the crossing, and waited long, 
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng 
Of human beings who pass'd her by, 
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye. 

Down the street, with laughter and shout, 
Glad in the freedom of "school let out," 
Came the boys like a flock of sheep, 
Hailing the snow piled white and deep. 

Past the woman so old and gray 
Hastened the children on their way, 
Nor offer'd a helping hand to her, — 
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir. 

Lest the carriage-wheels or the horses feet 
Should crowd her down in the slippery street 
At last came one of the merry troop, — 
The gayest laddie of all the group. 

He paused beside her, and whisper'd low, 
"I'll help you across if you wish to go." 
Her aged hand on his strong, young arm 
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm, 

He guided the trembling feet along, 
Proud that his own were firm and strong; 
Then back again to his friends he went, 
His young heart happy and well content. 

"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know, 
For all she's aged and poor and slow ; 
And I hope some fellow will lend a hand 
To help my mother, you understand. 

If ever she's poor and old and gray, 

When her own dear boy is far away." 

And "Somebody's Mother" bowed low her head 

In her home that night, and the prayer she said 

Was, "God be kind to the noble boy, 

Who is somebody's son and pride and joy." 

Page Seventy-two 



^.Wnts of ^ortlj 



Apple Blossoms 

George Martin 

Have you seen an apple orchard in the spring, 

In the spring? 
An English apple orchard in the spring? 
When the spreading trees are hoary 
With their wealth of promised glory 
And the mavis pipes his story 

In the spring. 

Have you plucked the apple blossoms 
In the spring, in the spring? 

And caught their subtle odors 
In the spring? 

Pink buds bursting in the light, 

Crumpled petals, baby white, 

Just to touch them a delight, 
In the spring. 

Have you walked beneath the blossoms 
In the spring, in the spring? 

Beneath the apple blossoms 
In the spring? 

Where the pink cascades were falling 

And the silver-brooklets brawling 

And the cuckoo-bird was calling 
In the spring. 

Have you seen a merry bridal 

In the spring? 
In an English apple country 

In the springy? 
Where the brides and maids wear 
Apple blossoms in their hair, 
Apple blossoms everywhere 

In the spring. 

If you have not, then you know not 
In the spring, in the spring, 

Half the color, beauty, wonder, 
Of the spring, 

No sight do I remember, half so precious 

Half so tender, as the apple blossoms render, 
In the spring. 

Page Seventy-three 



^toems of JSffnrtif 



The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in 
New England 

Felicia Hemans 

The breaking waves dashed high 

On a stern and rock-bound coast, 
And the woods against a stormy sky, 

Their giant branches tossed; 

And the heavy night hung dark, 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame; 

Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear: — 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amidst the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard and the sea ; 
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 

To the anthem of the free ! 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam ; 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared, — 

This was their welcome home ! 

There were men with hoary hair 

Amidst the pilgrim band ; 
Why had they come to wither there, 

Away from their childhood's land? 

There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow serenely high, 

Arid the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus afar? 

Bright jewels of the mine? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? 

They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 

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Aye, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod. 

They have left unstained what there they found- 
Freedom to worship God. 



Columbus 

(Joaquin Miller) 

Behind him lay the gray Azores, 

Behind the Gates of Hercules ; 
Before him not the ghost of shores, 

Before him only shoreless seas. 
The good mate said : "Now must we pray, 

For lo ! the very stars are gone. 
Speak Adm'r'l; what shall I say?" 

"Why, say : 'Sail on ! sail on ! and on !' " 

"My men grow mutinous day by day ; 

My men grow ghastly wan and weak." 
The stout mate thought of home; a spray 

Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. 
"What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say, 

If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" 
"Why, you shall say, at break of day : 

'Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on !' " 

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, 

Until at last the blanched mate said : 
"Why, now not even God would know 

Should I and all my men fall dead. 
These very winds forget their way, 

For God from these dread seas is gone. 
Xow speak, brave Adm'r'l; speak and say" — 

He said : "Sail on ! sail on ! and on !" 

They sailed. They sailed. Then spoke the mate 

"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night; 
He curls his lip, he lies in wait, 

With lifted teeth, as if to bite: 
Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word; 

What shall we do when hope is gone?" 
The words leapt as a leaping sword: 

"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" 

Page Seventy-five 



•poems of JHorilj 



Then pale and worn, he kept his deck, 

And peered through darkness. Ah, that night 
Of all dark nights ! And then a speck — 

A light ! A light ! A light ! A light ! 
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! 

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. 
He gained a world ; he gave that world 

Its grandest lesson : "On sail on !" 



A Leap for Life 

Walter Colton 

Old Ironsides at anchor lay 

In the harbour of Mahan ; 
A dead calm rested on the bay, — 

The waves to sleep had gone; 
When little Hal, the Captain's son, 

A lad both brave and good, 
In sport up shroud and rigging ran, 

And on the main truck stood. 

A shudder shot through every vein, 

All eyes were turned on high, 
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain, 

Between the sea and sky : 
No hold had he above, below ; 

Alone he stood in air ; 
To that far height none dared to go, 

No aid could reach him there. 

We gazed, but not a man could speak, 

With horror all aghast; 
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, 

We watched the quivering mast ; 
The atmosphere grew thick and hot, 

And of a lurid hue : — 
As riveted unto the spot, 

Stood officers and crew. 

The father came on deck; he gasp'd 

"O, God thy will be done !" 
Then suddenly a rifle grasped, 

And aimed it at his son. 
"Jump far out, boy, into the wave ! 

Jump, or I fire," he said, 
"That chance alone your life can save 

Jump, jump!" The boy obey'd. 

Page Seventy-six 



|Jnema of piortli 



He sunk, — he rose, — he lived, — he moved,- 

And for the ship struck out ; 
On board we hail'd the lad beloved, 

With many a manly shout. 
His father drew, in silent joy, 

Those wet arms round his neck, 
And folded to his heart his boy, 

Then fainted on the deck. 



Abou Ben Adhem 

Leigh Hunt 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) 

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 

And saw, within the moonlight of his room, 

Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, 

An angel, writing in a book of gold; 

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 

And to the presence in the room he said, 

"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, 

And with a look made of all sweet accord, 

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." 

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," 

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 

But cherrily still ; and said, "I pray thee, then, 

Write me as one who loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 

It came again, with a great awakening light, 

And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, 

And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 



Mrs. Lofty and I 

Anonymous 

Mrs. Lofty keeps a carriage, 

So do I ; 
She has dapple grays to draw it, 

None have I ; 
She's no prouder with her coachman 

Than am I 
With my blue-eyed laughing baby, 

Trundling by ; 
I hide his face lest she should see 
The cherub boy, and envy me. 

Page Seventy-seven 



jjjlaema of Purify 



Her fine husband has white fingers, 

Mine has not; 
He could give his bride a palace, 

Mine a cot; 
Hers comes home beneath the starlight, 

Ne'er cares she; 
Mine comes home in the purple twilight, 

Kisses me, 
And prays that He who turns life's sands 
Will hold His loved ones in His hands. 
Mrs. Lofty has her jewels, 

So have I ; 
She wears hers upon her bosom, 

Inside I ; 
She will leave hers at Death's portal, 

By-and-by ; 
I shall bear my treasure with me 

When I die; 
For I have love, and she has gold ; 
She counts her wealth ; — mine can't be told. 
She has those who love her station, 

None have I ; 
But I've one true heart beside me — 

Glad am I ; 
I'd not change it for a kingdom, 

No, not I; 
God will weigh it in His balance, 

By-and-by ; 
And the difference define 
'Twixt Mrs. Lofty 's wealth and mine. 



Your Flag and My Flag 

Wilbur D. Nesbit 

Your flag and my flag, 
And how it flies to-day, 
In your land and my land 
And half a world away, 
Rose red and blood red, 
The stripes forever gleam, 
Snow white and soul white — 
The good forefather's dream; 
Sky blue and true blue, 
With stars to gleam aright, 
The gloried guidon of the day, 
A shelter through the night. 



Page Severity-eight 



•poems of JUSortlj 



Your flag and my flag. 
To every star and stripe, 
The drums beat as hearts beat, 
And fifers shrilly pipe. 
Your flag and my flag — 
A blessing in the sky 
Your hope and my hope — 
It never hid a lie. 
Home land and far land, 
And half the world around, 
Old Glory, here's our glad 
Salute and ripples to the sound. 

Your flag and my flag, 
And oh ! how much it holds — 
Your land and my land, 
Secure within its folds, 
Your heart and my heart, 
Beat quicker at the sight ; 
Sun kissed and wind tossed — 
Red and blue and white, 
The one flag, the great flag, 
The flag for me and you — 
Glorified all else beside — 
The red, and white, and blue. 



Little Boy Blue 

Eugene Field 

The little toy dog is covered with dust, 

But sturdy and stanch he stands ; * 
And the little toy soldier is red with rust, 

And his musket moulds in his hands. 
Time was when the little toy dog was new, 

And the soldier was passing fair, 
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue 

Kissed them and put them there. 

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said, 

"And don't you make any noise!" 
So toddling to his trundle-bed, 

He dreamed of the pretty toys. 
And as he was dreaming, an angel song 

Awakened our Little Boy Blue, — 
Oh, the years are many, the years are long, 

But the little toy friends are true ! 

Page Seventy-nine 



•|3a£ms of piortlj 



Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, 

Each in the same old place, 
Awaiting the touch of a little hand, 

The smile of a little face. 
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through, 

In the dust of that little chair, 
What has become of our Little Boy Blue 

Since he kissed them and put them there. 



Jim Bludsoe 

John Hay 

Wall, No ! I can't tell where he lives, 

Because he don't live, you see ; 

Leastways, he's got out of the habit 

Of livin' like you and me. 

Whar have you been for the last three years, 

That you haven't heard folks tell 

How Jimmy Bludsoe passed in his checks, 

The night of the Prairie Belle? 

He warn't no saint — them engineers 

Is all pretty much alike 

One wife in Natchez-Under-the-Hill, 

And another one here in Pike. 

A careless man in his talk was Jim, 

And an awkward man in a row 

But he never flunked, and he never lied 

I reckon he never knowed how. 

And this was all the religion he had 

To treat his engine well ; 

Never be passed on the river; 

To mind the pilot's bell ; 

And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire, 

A thousand times he swore, 

He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank 

Till the last soul got ashore. 

All boats has their day on the Mississip', 
And her day came at last, — 
The Movastar was a better boat, 
But the Belle, she wouldn't be passed, 
And so came a-tearin' along that night, 
The oldest craft on the line, 
With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, 
And her furnaces crammed, rosin and pine. 

Page Eighty 



Poems of JWcrtlf 



The fire burst out as she cleared the bar, 

And burnt a hole in the night, 

And quick as a flash she turned and made 

For that wilier-bank on the right. 

Ther' was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out 

Over all the infernal roar, 

"I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank 

Till the last galoot's ashore." 

Thro' the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat 

Jim Bludsoe's voice was heard, 

And they all had trust in his cussedness, 

And know'd he would keep his word. 

And sure's you're born, they all got off 

Afore the smokestacks fell, 

And Bludsoe's ghost went up alone 

In the smoke of the Prairie Belle. 

He warn't no saint — but at judgment 
I'd run my chance with Jim 
Alongside of some pious gentleman 
That wouldn't shook hands with him. 
He'd seen his duty, a dead sure thing, 
And went f er it thar and then ; 
And Christ ain't a-goin' to be too hard 
On a man that died for men. 



The Daffodils 

William Wordsworth 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
When all at once I saw a crowd, 

A host, of golden daffodils, 
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the Milky Way, 

They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay : 

Ten thousand saw I. at a glance, 

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 

Outdid the sparkling waves in glee; 
A poet could not but be gay 

Page Eighty-one 



;Jf oems of JUorttj 



In such a jocund company. 
I gazed, and gazed, but little thought 
What wealth the show to me had brought 

For oft, when on my couch I lie, 
In vacant or in pensive mood, 

They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude; 

And then my heart with pleasure fills, 

And dances with the daffodils. 



Aux Italiens 

Robert Bulwer Lytton 

At Paris it was, at the opera there; 
And she looked like a queen in a book that night, 
With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair, 
And the brooch on her breast so bright. 

Of all the operas that Verdi wrote, 
The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore; 
And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note, 
The souls of purgatory. 

The moon oh the tower slept soft as snow ; 
And who was not thrilled in the strangest way, 
As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low, 
"Non ti scordar di me?" 

The emperor there, in his box of state, 
Looked grave; as if he had just then seen 
The red flag wave from the city gate, 
Where his eagles in bronze had been. 

The empress, too, had a tear in her eye: 

You'd have said that her fancy had gone back again, 

For one moment, under the old blue sky, 

To the old glad life in Spain. 

Well ! there in our front-row box we sat 
Together, my bride betrothed and I ; 
My gaze was fixed on my opera hat, 
And hers on the stage hard by. 

Page Eighty-two 



Jloems of JUlnrtlt 



And both were silent, and both were sad; 
Like a queen she leaned on her full white arm, 
With that regal, indolent air she had; 
So confident of her charm. 

I have not a doubt she was thinking then 
( )f her former lord, good soul that he was, 
Who died the richest and roundest of men, 
The Marquis of Carabas. 

I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven 
Through a needle's eye he had not to pass ; 
I wish him well for the jointure given 
To my lady of Carabas. 

Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love 
As I had not been thinking of aught for years ; 
Till over my eyes there began to move 
Something that felt like tears. 

I thought of the dress that she wore last time, 
When we stood 'neath the cypress-trees together, 
In that lost land, in that soft clime, 
In the crimson evening weather ; 

Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot) ; 
And her warm, white neck in its golden chain ; 
And her full, soft hair, just tied in a knot, 
And falling loose again ; 

And the jasmine flower in her fair, young breast; 
(O the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine flower!) 
And the one bird singing alone to his nest ; 
And the one star over the tower. 

I thought of our little quarrels and strife, 
And the letter that brought me back my ring; 
And it all seemed then, in the waste of life, 
Such a very little thing! 

For I thought of her grave below the hill, 
Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands over ; 
And I thought, "Were she only living still, 
How I could forgive her and love her !" 

Page Eighty-three 



•Jjioems of JUoritf 



And I swear, as I thought of her thus in that hour, 
And of how, after all, old things are best, 
That I smelt the smell of that jasmine flower 
Which she used to wear in her breast. 

It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet, 

It made me creep, and it made me cold ! 

Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet 

Where a mummy is half unrolled ; 

And I turned and looked; she was sitting there, 
In a dim box over the stage ; and drest 
In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair, 
And the jasmine in her breast! 

I was here, and she was there; 
And the glittering horse-shoe curved between : 
From my bride betrothed, with her raven hair 
And her sumptuous scornful mien, 

To my early love, with her eyes downcast, 
And over her primrose face the shade, 
(In short, from the future back to the past,) 
There was but a step to be made. 

To my early love from my future bride 
One moment I looked. Then I stole to the door, 
I traversed the passage; and down at her side 
I was sitting, a moment more. 

My thinking of her, or the music's strain, 
Or something which never will be exprest, 
Had brought her back from the grave again, 
With the jasmine in her breast. 

She is not dead, and she is not wed ! 

But she loves me now, and she loved me then ! 

And the very first word that her sweet lips said, 

My heart grew youthful again. 

The marchioness there, of Carabas, 
She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still; 
And but for her, well, we'll let that pass ; 
She may marry whomever she will. 

Page Eighty- four 



•JJoems of JHffortrf 



But I will marry my own first love, 
With her primrose face, for old things are best; 
And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above 
The brooch in my lady's breast. 

The world is filled with folly and sin, 
And love must cling where it can, I say : 
For beauty is easy enough to win ; 
But one isn't loved every day. 

And I think in the lives of most women and men, 
There's a moment when all would go smooth and even 
If only the dead could find out when 
To come back and be forgiven. 

But O the smell of that jasmine flower ! 

And O that music ! and O the way 

That voice rang out from the donjon tower, 

"Non ti scorder di me, 

Non ti scordar di me!" 



Page Eighty-five 



Sacred Selections 



The Wild White Rose 

Ellen H. Willis 

It was peeping through the brambles that little, wild 

white rose, 
Where the hawthorn hedge was planted, my garden to 

enclose, 
All beyond was fern and heather, on the breezy, open 

moor ; 
All within was sun and shelter, and the wealth of beauty's 

store. 
But I did not heed the fragrance of flow'ret or of tree; 
For my eyes were on that rosebud, and it grew too high 

for me. 
In vain I strove to reach it through the tangled mass of 

green, 
It only smiled and nodded behind its thorny screen. 
Yet through that summer morning I lingered near the 

spot : 
Oh, why do things seem sweeter if we possess them not? 
My garden buds were blooming, but all that I could see 
Was that little mocking wild rose hanging just too high 

for me. 

So in life's wiser garden there are buds of promise, too, 
Beyond our reach to .gather, but not beyond our view ; 
And like the little charmer that tempted me astray, 
They steal out half the brightness of many a summer's 

day. 
Oh ! hearts that fail with longing for some forbidden tree, 
Look up and learn a lesson from my white rose and me. 
'Tis wiser far to number the blessings at my feet 
Than ever to be sighing for just one bud more sweet. 
My sunbeams and my shadows fall from a pierced hand, 
I can surely trust His wisdom since His heart I under- 
stand ; 
And maybe in the morning, when His blessed face I see, 
He will tell me why my white rose grew just too high 
for me. 
(Musical Accompaniment "Hearts and Flowers") 

Page Eighty-six 



^pmnns of 339orlI| 



My Master 

Selected 

I had walked life's path 

With an easy tread. 

1 had followed where pleasure 

And comfort led 

'Til at last — by chance 

In a quiet place, 

I met My Master 

Face to Face. 

With fortune and fame 
And wealth for a goal 
Much thought for the body 
But none for the soul. 
I had entered to win, 
In life's mad race — 
When I met My Master, 
Face to Face. 

I had built my castles, 
And reared them high. 
'Til their towers pierced 
The blue of the sky. 
I had sworn to rule 
With an iron mace 
When I met My Master 
Face to Face. 

I saw Him, knew Him, 
And blushed to see 
How His eyes full of pity — 
Were fixed on me. 
I faltered and fell 
At His feet that day, 
And my castles melted 
And vanished away. 

Melted and vanished 
And in their place, 
I knew naught else, 
But my Master's face. 
I cried aloud — 
"Oh make me meet 
To follow the marks 
Of Thy wounded feet." 



Page Eighty-seven 



^oems of JUJUorftf 



My thought is now 
For the souls of men. 
I had lost my life 
To find it again. 
E'er since alone 
In that holy place. 
My Master and I 
Stood Face to Face. 
(Musical Accompaniment "Face to Face.") 



The Night Cometh 

Anonymous 
An angel passed through a busy street ; 
His step was swift, his smile was sweet, 
And he sped in the path of the rising sun, 
Saying, softly, "The day is begun, 
The Night Cometh." 

He met a child, who laughed and ran, 
Chasing the butterflies with her fan, 
A circlet of lilies, white and fair, 
Crowning her waving, yellow hair; 
And stopping, he asked, in a gentle tone, 
"Do you love the Master, my little one?" 
She raised her beautiful, sunlit head, 
"I am one of 'His little lambs," she said. 
"Then do," said the angel, "as He commands; 
Your work is ready, it waits your hands !" 
The child made answer, "I'll not forget. 
I shall do my work ere the sun is set ; 
But it's going to be such a long, long day ; 
It is morning now, I want to play !" 

The angel watched her in sad surprise, 
As she flitted away with the butterflies ; 
And he sped in the path of the rising sun, 
Whispering softly, "Will the work be done? 

The Night Cometh." 
An hour flew by, and the child lay dead — 
A stain on the beautiful, sunlit head, 
A stain which the lilies could not hide, 
Though they spread their waxen petals wide; 
And the weepers heard in a voice divine, 
Like the solemn moan of a wind stirred pine, 

"The Night Cometh." 

Page Eighty-eight 



IJocma of JOUortlj 



The angel passed through the busy street, 
And met a man with hurrying feet, 
"Stay !" he cried, "are you one of those 
Who love the Master and hate His foes?" 
"Oh, yes !" he replied ; "My name is enrolled 
In the book of the Church, I am safe in the fold." 
"Then do," said the angel "as He commands; 
Your work is ready, it waits your hands!" 
"Good Sir," said the man, "I shall do my work 
•All in good season, I'm never a shirk; 
Just now I am busy, as you must see. 
But sometime — yes, sometime — I hope to be free 
To work for the master ; I'm still in my prime 
With life before me, — there's plenty of time!" 

The angel watched him, speeding along 
With a troubled brow through the jostling throng, 
And he followed the path of the setting sun 
Whispering softly, "Will the work be done? 

The Night Cometh." 
The years rolled by, through a city street 
A man walked slowly, with tottering feet ; 
His form was, bent, and his face was old, 
And his heart was as hard as his silver and gold; 
But he seemed to hear, like a mournful rhyme, 
"Life is before me there's plenty of time!" 
And those who were nearest him, heard him say, 
"It is growing dark — I have lost the day! 

The Night Cometh." 



The Water Mill 

Anonymous 
Oh, listen to the water-mill, throughout the live-long day 
How the clicking of the wheel wears hour by hour away ; 
How languidly the autumn wind stirs the withered leaves 
As in the fields the reapers sing while binding up the 

sheaves. 
A solemn proverb strikes my mind and as a spell is cast, 
The mill will never grind again with water that is past. 

Soft summer winds revive no more leaves strewn o'er 

earth and main, 
The sickle never more shall reap the yellow garnered 

grain ; 
The rippling stream flows ever on, ave tranquil, deep and 

still, 

Page Eighty-nine 



•poems of pJorilj 



But never glideth back again to the busy water-mill. 
A solemn proverb speaks to all, with meaning deep and 

vast; 
The mill will never drive again with water that is past. 

Oh, take this lesson to thy soul, dear loving heart and 

true, 
For golden years are fleeting by and youth is passing too ; 
Ah ! learn to make the most of life, nor lose one happy 

day, 
For time ne'er brings sweet joy again, refused or thrown 

away; 
Nor leave one tender word unsaid ; the kindness strewn 

broadcast, 
The mill will never drive again with water that is past. 

Oh, the wasted hours of youth that have swiftly drifted 

Alas, the good we might have done all gone out with a 
sigh, 

Love that could have once been saved by a single kindly 
word, 

Thoughts conceived, but ne'er expressed, perishing un- 
penned, unheard, 

Oh, take the lesson to thy soul, forever clasp it fast : 

The mill will never grind again with water that is past. 

Work on while yet the day is bright, thou man of 

strengthened will, 
For streamlet ne'er doth useless glide by busy water-mill ; 
Nor wait until tomorrow beam with brightness on thy 

way, 
For all that thou canst call thy own lies in the phrase 

today, 
Possession, power, blooming health, must all be lost at 

last; 
The mill will never grind again with water that is past. 

Love thy God and fellow-man thyself considered last, 
For come it will when thou must scan dark errors of the 

past. 
Soon will this fight for life be o'er and earth recede from 

view, 
And Heaven in all its glory shine, where all is pure and 

true; 
Then thoul't see more clearly still the proverb deep, but 

vast; 
The mill will never grind again with water that is past. 

Page Ninety 



•|jJocms of J00rtl| 



The Inn That Missed Its Chance 

(The Landlord Speaks, — 28 A. D.) 
Amos R. Wells 

What could be done? The inn was full of folk, 
lli> Honor, Marcus Lucius, and his scribes 
Who made the census; honorable men 
From farthest Galilee, come hitherward 
.To be enrolled ; high ladies and their lords, 
The rich, the rabbis, such a noble throng 
As Bethlehem had never seen before 
And may not see again, and there they were 
Close herded with their servants, till the inn 
Was like a hive at swarming-time, and I 
Was fairly crazed among them. 

Could I know that they were so important? 
Just the two, no servants, just a workman 
Sort of man, leading a donkey, and his wife 
Thereon drooping and pale, I saw them not 
Myself, my servants must have driven them 
Away, but had I seen them, how was I to know? 
Were inns to welcome stragglers up and down 
In all our towns from Beersheba to Dan 
Till He should come? And how were men to know? 

There was a sign they say, a heavenly light 

Resplendent ; but I had no time for stars 

And there were songs of angels in the air 

Out on the hills ; but how was I to hear 

Amid the thousand clamors of an inn? 

Of course if I had known them, who they were, 

And who was He that should be born that night, 

Had I known, I would have turned the whole inn 

Upside down, His Honor, Marcus Lucius, and the 

Rest and sent, them all to stables, had I known. 

So you have seen him, stranger, and perhaps 
Again will see him. Prithee, say for me, 
I did not know; and if he comes again 
As he will surely come, with retinue and 
Banners and an army, tell my Lord that 
All my inn is his to make amends. 
Alas, alas, to miss a chance like that; 
This inn that might be chief among them all 
The birth-place of Messiah, had I known. 

Page Ninety-one 



^poema of ptarilj 



The House by the Side of the Road 

Sam Walter Foss 

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn 

In the place of their self content; 
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart, 

In a f ellowless firmament ; 
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths 

Where the highways never ran — 
But let me live by the side of the road 

And be a friend to man. 

Let me live in a house by the side of the road, 

Where the race of men go by — 
The men who are good and the men who are bad, 

As good and as bad as I. 
I would not sit in the scorner's seat, 

Or hurl the cynic's ban — 
Let me live in a house by the side of the road 

And be a friend to man. 

I see from my house by the side of the road, 

By the side of the highways of life, 
The men who press with the ardor of hope, 

The men who are weak with the strife. 
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears, 

Both parts of an infinite plan — 
Let me live in my house by the side of the road 

And be a friend to man. 

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead 

And mountains of wearisome height; 
That the road stretches on through the long afternoon 

And passes away to the night. 
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice, 

And weep with the mourners who moan, 
Nor live in my house by the side of the road 

Like a man who dwells alone. 

Let me live in my house by the side of the road, 

Where the race of men go by, 
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, 

They are strong, wise, foolish, so am I, 
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat, 

Or hurl the cynic's ban? 
Let me live in my house by the side of the road, 

And be a friend to man. 

Page Ninety-two 



•jjloems of ^ortf| 



In My Father's House 

Anonymous 

In our sleep we ofttimes wander 
In a dreamland bright and fair, 
In a land where flowers of beauty 
With sweet fragrance scent the air. 
There's a dream, a golden vision, 
Of a heavenly land so bright 
That I dreamed of, could I only 
Now to you its message write. 

Lo, I wandered in a country 
Beautiful beyond compare, 
Golden harps were ever sounding 
Heavenly music in the air, 
Rivers, too, as clear as crystal, 
Fountains with their silver spray, 
And the light of that blest country 
Clearer was, than light of day. 

As I stood in silent wonder, 

One bright form came softly near, 

As I looked I knew my Savior, 

In His hands the nail prints clear. 

Then He touched me on the shoulder 

As He spake in gentle tone, 

"In my Father's House are mansions, 

Mansions built by love alone." 

"Each one here doth claim a mansion," 
"Where is mine?" I then replied, 
"Come with me," He softly whispered, 
Then I glided by His side. 
Now rny heart stood still in wonder, 
Mansions fair did meet my gaze, 
Some they were not yet completed, 
Others stately domes did raise. 

And I prayed and longed so earnest 
That I could claim one as mine, 
Then a voice, it was my Savior's, 
Saying, "This my child is thine." 
As I looked I saw a structure 
Of a grand foundation plan, 
Nothing else, x]o walls, no towers, 
Work left off where it began. 

Page Ninety-three 



IJoems of JHUorttj 



"Lord," I cried in anguish sorely, 
"Why unfinished work is mine ?" 
And his voice was full of sadness 
As he spoke those. words, divine. 
"In my Father's. House are mansions, 
Don't you. see and understand, 
God is the -great Master Builder, 
Ye are workers 'neath His hands." 

"For by each unselfish action, b 

And by every gentle word, 

Ye are building heavenly mansions 

In the City of your God. 

Back to earth my child go calmly 

And thy cwork take up with zeal, - : 

Lay thy treasure in this kingdom 

Where no thieves break through- nor steal.' 

"Lord," 1 f 'cried in anguish sorely, 

"I was blind, I did not care, 

'Twas the things, of earth I cherished, 

Not my heavenly, iriansibns fair,, 

But my life is m thy .keeping, 

All I have and ahi is Thine, r 

Lead, O lead me in thy footsteps," , ; ".. 

To that heavenly life, divine." 

'Twas a drearn^. -but there's a message, , 

Meant for all this world to know, 

Just pass on a word of kindness, 

In life's pathway here below. 

Beai ye one another's burden, 

As ye walk along the road, 

Those the stones that build your mansion, 

In the heavenly home of God. ; 

Just to help: on life's .short journey, 
Some poor soul along the way, 
Just to take their hand in kindness, 
And a gentle word to say. J ; 
What is wealth or what is pleasure, 
We shall leave those all behind 
When we crdss the heavenly portal 
We immortal joys shall find. ■ ^ ' ? 



Page -Ninety-four 



Poems for Entertainment 



What the Choir Sang About the 
New Bonnet 

M. T. Morrison 

A foolish little maiden bought a foolish little bonnet, 
With a ribbon, and a feather, and a bit of lace upon it; 
And that the other maidens of the little town might 

know it, 
She thought she'd go to meeting the next Sunday just 

to show it. 
But though the little bonnet was scarce larger than a dime, 
The getting of it settled proved to be a work of time; 
So when 'twas fairly tied, all the bells had stopped their 

ringing, 
And when sue came to meeting, sure enough the folks 

were singing. 

So this foolish little maiden stood and waited at the door ; 
And she shook her ruffles out behind and smoothed them 

down before. 
"Hallelujah ! hallelujah !" sang the choir above her head. 
"Hardly knew you! hardly knew you!" were the words 

she thought they said. 
This made the little maiden feel so very, very cross, 
That she gave her little mouth a twist, her little head a 

toss ; 
For she thought the very hymn they sang was all about 

her bonnet, 
With the ribbon, and the feather, and the bit of lace 

upon it. 

And she would not wait to listen to the sermon or the 

prayer, 
But pattered down the silent street, and hurried up the 

stair, 
Till she reached her little bureau, and in a band-box on it, 
Had hidden, safe from critics' eye, her foolish little 

bonnet. 
Which proves, mv little maidens, that each of you will 

find 
In every Sabbath service but an echo of your mind; 
And the silly little head, that's filled with silly little airs, 
Will never get a blessing from sermon or from prayers. 

Page Ninety-five 



Poems of pioril] 



Money Musk 

(Selected) 

Ah, the buxom girls that helped the buxom boys — 
The nobler Helens of humbler Troys, 
As they stripped the husks with the rustling fold, 
From eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold. 

By the candlelight in pumpkin bowls, 
And the gleams that showed fantastic holes, 
In the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin, 
From the hermit glim set up within. 

By the rarer light in girlish eyes 
As dark as wells, or as blue as skies, 
I hear the laugh when the ear is red, 
And I see the blush with the forfeit paid. 

The cedar cakes with the ancient twist 
The cider cup that the girls have kissed, 
And I see the fiddler through the dusk, 
As he twangs the ghost of "Money Musk." 

The boys and girls in a double row, 
Wait face to face till the magic bow 
Shall whip the tune from the violin, 
And the merry pulse of feet begin. 

(The remainder of the poem is read to the music, 
Money Musk) 

In shirt of check and tallowed hair 
The fiddler sits in bulrush chair, 
Like Moses' basket stranded there, 
On the brink of Father Nile. 

He feels the fiddle's slender neck, 
Picks out the notes with thrum and check ; 
And times the tune with nod and beck, 
And thinks it a weary while. 

All ready ! now he gives the call, 
Cries, "Honor to the ladies all." 
The jolly tides of laughter fall 
And ebb in a happy smile. 

Page Ninety-six 



•Pimus of JtWh 



But down comes the bow on every string 
"First couple join right hand and swing!" 
As light as any bluebird's wing 
"Swing once and a half times round." 

While Mary Martin all in blue, 
Calico gown and stockings new, 
And tinted eyes that tell you true 
Dance all to the dancing sound. 

She flits about big Moses Brown, 
Who holds her hands to keep her down 
And thinks her hair a golden crown, 
And his heart turns over once. 

His cheek with Mary's breath is wet, 
It gives a second sommerset ! 
He means to win that maiden yet, 
Alas, for the awkward dance. 

"Your stoga boot has crushed my toe, 
I'd rather dance with one-legged Joe, 
You clumsy fellow," "Pass below !" 
And the first pair dance apart. 

Then "Forward Six," advance, retreat, 
Like midges gay in sunbeam street, 
'Tis the Money Musk by merry feet, 
And the Money Musk by heart. 

"Three quarters around your partners swing!' 
"Across the set !" the rafters ring, 
The girls and boys have taken wing, 
And have brought their roses out. 

'Tis "Forward Six!" with rustic grace 
Oh, rarer far than — "Swing to place!" 
Than golden clouds of old point lace, 
They bring the dance about. 

Then, clasping hands all — "Right and left !" 
All swiftly weave the measure deft, 
Across the woof in loving weft 
And the Money Musk is done. 

Oh! dancers of the rustling husk, 
Good-night, sweethearts 'tis growing dusk, 
Good-night for aye to Money Musk, 
For the march of life begun. 

Pag« Ninety-seven 



^oema of JUTarify 



An Old Sweetheart of Mine 

James Whitcomb Riley 

As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, 
And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, 
So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design, 
I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. 

The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of sur- 
prise, 

As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes 

And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to 
yoke 

It's fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke. 

Tis a fragrant retrospection — for the loving thoughts 

that start 
Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the 

heart ; 
And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine 
When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweetheart 

of mine. 

Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of 

wings, 
The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings, 
I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme 
When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream. 

In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm 
To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm, 
For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine 
That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart 
of mine. 

A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace, 
Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase ; 
And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes 
As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies. 

I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered 
dress, 

She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the 
caress, 

With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine 

Grew round the stump," she loved me, that old sweet- 
heart of mine. 

Page Ninety-eight 



^Joems of 3$orth 



And again I feel the pressure of her slender, little hand, 
As we used to talk together of the future we had planned. 
When 1 should be a poet, and with nothing else to do 
But write the tender verses that she set the music to. 

When we should live together in a cozy, little cot 
Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, 
Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever 

fine, 
And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart 

of mine. 

When I should be her lover forever and a day, 

And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was 

gray : 
And we should be so happy that when either's lips were 

dumb 
They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had 

come. 

But, ah ! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, 
The door if softly opened,, and my wife is standing 

there ; 
Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign 
To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of 

mine. 



Be the Fellow That Your Mother 
Thinks You Are 

AXONVMOUS ' 

While walking down a crowded city street the other day, 
I heard a little urchin, to his comrade turn and say, 
"Say, Jimmy, let me. tell you I'd be as happy as a clam, 
If I only was the feller that my mother thinks I am, 

She thinks I am an angel, and she knows her little lad, 
Would never stoop to nothing that was ugly, mean, or 

bad, 
Lots of times I sit and wonder what I would give, Gee 

Whiz! 
If I only was the feller that my mother thinks I is." 

My friend, be yours a life of toil, or undulated joy, 
You still can learn a lesson from this ragged, barefoot 

boy, ' 

Don't aim to be an earthly saint with eyes fixed on a star, 
Just try to be the fellow that your mother thinks you are. 

Page Ninety-nine 



^fosma of Purify 



Just for a Girl 

Selected 
Many a throne has had its fall 

For a girl, just a girl, 
Many a king was made to crawl 

For a girl, just a girl, 
When the hero goes to war 
He may battle for the right 
But it's likelier by far 
When he sallies forth to fight 

It's for a girl, just a girl. 

When the doctor learns to say, 

"It's a girl, just a girl," 
Father answers in dismay, 
"What, a girl, just a girl?" 
Why the sorrow and dismay, 
Why the anger they display? 
Some day some strong man 
Will swear that the world was made 
For a girl, just a girl. 

Why did Adam take a bite? 

For a girl, just a girl, 
Why was Troy swept out of sight? 

For a girl, just a girl. 
And would heaven be so bright 
And men achieve it? 
If they might not claim forever there 

A girl, just a girl. 



Swinging in the Grape-vine Swing 

Hubbard T. Smith 
When I was a boy on the old plantation, 

Down by the deep bayou, 
The fairest spot in all creation, 

Under the arching blue, 
When the wind swept over the cotton and corn 

To the long, slim loop, I would spring, 
With brown feet bare and hat brim torn, 

And swing in the grape-vine swing, 

Swinging in the grape-vine swing, 
Laughing where the wild birds sing, 
I dream and sigh for the days gone by, 
Swinging in the grape-vine swing. 



Page One Hundred 



Poems of JSortlj 



Out over the water lilies, bonnie and bright, 

Back to the moss grown trees, 
With ringing laugh and heart as light, 

As a rose tossed by the breeze, 
The mocking birds' all echoed my glee, 

And I longed for no angel's wing, 
I was as near heav'n as I wished to be, 

While swinging in the grape-vine swing. 

I'm weary at morn and I'm weary at night, 

Fretted and sore at heart, 
And care is sowing my locks with white, 

As I wend through the fevered mart. 
I'm weary of the world's pride and pomp, 

For to me no joy it can bring, 
I would barter it all for one day's romp, 

And a swing in the grape-vine swing. 

Swinging in the grape-vine swing, 
Laughing where the wild birds sing, 
I dream and sigh for the days gone by, 
Swinging in the grape-vine swing. 



The Fool and the Little Court Lady 

(Selected) 

He was a merry, merry fool so gay, 

She was a little court lady, 
He jangled his bells by night and by day, 

She sang in the green ways shady. 

She sang to the queen with the sad, sad, face, 
Who sighed, "Ah me !" as she listened, 

"My crown for a day of such girlhood's grace." 
And a tear in her dark eye glistened. 

The grave king looked at his jester gay, 
And sighed as he smiled at the chaffing, 

"My kingdom to be this fool for a day, 
Whose life is a time for laughing." 

They met as the sun slipped down in the sea, 

The fool and the little court lady. 
But a queer jester he and a sorry singer she, 

As they passed down the green ways shady. 

Page One Hundred and One 



Prmms of piortlj 



For, "I would I were the king." this queer fool saia, 
"I'm tired of my jesting and my laughter," 

And, "Oh to be" the queen!" sighed the merry little maid 
"And to wear a gorgeous robe, forever after." 

Then he bobbed a little bow and a little courtesy she, 
As they passed down the green ways shady, 

But "Alack !" quoth the queer little fool, quoth he, 
And "Alas," sighed the little court lady. 



Bill Mason's Bride 

Bret Harte 

Half an hour till train time, sir, 

An' a fearful dark time, too ; 
Take a look at the switch lights, Tom, 

Fetch in a stick when you're through. 
On time? well, yes, I guess so — • 

Left the last station all right; 
She'll come round the curve a-flyin' ; 

Bill Mason comes up to-night. 

You know Bill? No? He's engineer, 

Been on the road all his life. 
I'll never forget the mornin' 

He married his chuck of a wife. 
'Twas the day the mill hands struck, 

Just off work, every one ; 
They kicked up a row in the village 

And killed old Donovan's son. 

Bill hadn't been married mor'n an hour, 

Up comes a message from 'Kress, 
Orderin' Bill to go up there, 

And bring down the night express. 
He left his gal in a hurry, 

And went up on Number One, 
Thinking of nothing but Mary, 

And the train he had to run. 

And Mary sat down by the window 
To wait for the night express ; 

And, sir, if she hadn't a' done so, 
She'd been a widow, I guess. 

For itfnust a* been nigh midnight 
When the mill hands left the Ridge; 

Page One Hundred and'" 3Fwo 



^oerns of pJortl] 



They come down — the drunken devils, 
Tore up a rail from the bridge. 

But Mary heard 'em a-workin' 

.And guessed there was somethin' wrong 

And in less than fifteen miuutes, 
Bill's train it would be along! 

She couldn't come here to tell us, 

A mile — it wouldn't a' done ; 
So she jest grabbed up a lantern, 

And made for the bridge alone. 
Then down came the night express, sir, 

And Bill was makin' her climb! 
But Mary held the lantern, 

A-swingin' it all the time. 

Well, by Jove ! Bill saw the signal, 

And he stopped the night express, 
And he found his Mary cryin', 

On the track, in her weddin' dress ; 
Cryin' an laughin' for joy, sir, 

An' holdin' on to the light 
Hello ! here's the train — good-bye, sir, 

Bill Mason's on time tonight. 



Counting Daisy Petals 

Lytton Cox 

Coming from the little school 

With our lessons done, 
Road just like a golden path 

In the evening sun. 
Then I'd tote her pile of books 

On the homeward way, 
While she'd hold a daisy up 

And shyly she would say : 

One I love, two I love, 

Three I love I say, 
Then I'd stoop and snatch a kiss, 

And shyly look away. 
Girltime. boytime, that was joytimc 

All of life was play, 
Picking daisy petals off 

At the close of day. 



Page One Hundred and Three 



Iloems of piortfy 



Then the years flew quickly by, 

Where we scarcely knew, 
She piled up her golden curls 

Dropped her eyes of blue. 
When the summer moon was bright 

Softly gleaming stars, 
I would go a-courting her 

By the pasture bars. 

One I love, two I love, 

Three I love I say, 
Four I love with all my heart 

I'd stoop and try to say. 
But her eyes so flustered me 

I'd grow pale with fright, 
And I'd guess I'd better not 

'Til some other night. 

Sometimes I'd get awful blue, 

Girls seemed mighty queer, 
Other fellows wanting her 

Came from far and near. 
And to tease me she'd say soft 

Just the same old rhyme 
That she used to speak to me 

Back in school-day time. 

One I love, two I love, 

Three I love I say, 
Four I love with all my heart 

And five I cast away. 
And she'd look right straight at me 

While she laughed in glee, 
And my heart went pit-a-pat 

Scared as I could be. 

Now alone I take the road 

Coming home at night, 
But I know she's waiting there 

In the fading light. 
By the little cottage gate 

Under evening skies, 
Watching up the golden road 

Love light in her eyes. 

Eyes are just as blue and bright 
Hair as shining gold, 

Page One Hundred and Four 



|Wuts of JUnrth 



As they used to seem to me 

In the days of old. 
As she'll hold a daisy up 

In the old, sweet way, 
While 1 stoop and kiss her lips 

Both of us will say. 

One I love, two I love, 

Three I love I say, 
Four I love with all my heart 

Forever and a day. 
Six she loves, seven he loves 

Eight both love alway, 
Thus we say love's rosary 

At the close of day. 



Marjery Grey 

(Author Unknown) 

( This is a very old poem, only original copy in exist- 
ence and is positively true.) 

Fair the cabin cabin walls were gleaming 
In the sunbeams' golden glow, 
On that lovely April morning 
Near a hundred years ago; 
And upon the humble threshhold 
Stood the young wife Marjery Grey 
With her fearless blue eyes glancing down 
The lonely forest way, 

In her arms her laughing baby 

With its father's dark hair played, 

As he lingered there beside them 

Leaning on the trusty spade; 

"I am going to the wheat lot," with 

A smile said Robert Grey. 

"Will you be too lonely 

Marjery, if I leave you all the day?" 

Then she smiled a cheerful answer 

Ere she spoke a single word and the tone, 

Of her replying, was as sweet as song of bird; 

"No," she said, "I'll take the baby and go stay with 

Annie Brown. 
You must meet us there, dear Robert, 
Ere the sun has quite gone down." 

Page One Hundred and Five 



^pocm0 ai piorify 



Thus they parted, strong and sturdy, 

All day long he labored on spading up 

The fertile acres from the stubborn forest won. 

And when laughing shadows warned him 

That the sun was in the west, 

Down the woodland aisles he hastened 

Whispering, "Now for home and rest." 

But when he had gained the clearing 
Of their friend a mile away, neither wife 
Nor child was waiting there to welcome 
Robert Grey. "Oh, she is safe at home," 
Said Annie, "for she went an hour ago 
While the woods were still illumined 
By the sunset's golden glow. 

Back he sped, but night was falling 

And the path he scarce could see, 

Here and there his feet were guided onward, 

Onward by some deep gashed tree. 

When at length he gained the cabin 

Black and desolate it stood, 

Cold the hearth, the windows rayless, 

In the stillest solitude. 

With a murmured prayer, a shudder 

A sob of anguish wild — back he darted 

Through the forest, calling on his wife and child. 

Soon the startled settlers gathered from 

The clearing far and near and the 

Solemn woods resounded with their 

Voices ringing clear. 

Torches flared and fires were kindled, 
And the horn's long peal rang out. 
While the startled echoes answered 
To the sturdy woodman's shout ; 
But in vain their sad endeavor 
Night by night and day by day, 
For no sign or token found they 
Of the wife of Robert Grey. 

Woe! woe! for pretty Marjery, with her babe 

Upon her arm, on her homeward way she started, 

Fearing nothing that could harm. 

With a lip and brow untroubled and a heart 

In utter rest, through the dim woods 

Page One Hundred and Six 



^Jocms of pJortlj 



She went singing to the darling on her breast. 

But in sudden tenor, pausing, gazed 

She round in blank dismay. 

\\ here were all the white, scarred hemlocks 

Pointing out the lonely way? 

God of Mercies, she had wandered from the pathway. 

Not a tree giving mute but kindly warning, 

Could her straining vision see. 

Twilight deepened into darkness,' 
And the stars came out on high; 
All was silent in the forest, save the owl's low boding 

cry. 
Round about her in the midnight 
Stealthy shadows softly crept, and the babe 
Upon her bosom, closed its eyes and slept; 

Hark! A shout, and in the distance 

She could see the torches gleam. But alas! 

She could not reach it, and it 

Vanished like a dream. ■■>..• 

Then another shout and another, 

But she shrieked and sobbed in vain 

Rushing wildly toward a presentee 

She could never, never gain. 

. 
O, the days so long and dreary. O, the nights 
More dreary still. 

More than once she heard the sounding, 
Of the horn from hill to hilh - ;; . 

More than once a smouldering fire, 
In some sheltered nook she found; 
And she knew her husband's footprints close 
Beside it on the ground. 

Pawned the fourth relentless morning, 

And the sun's unpitying eye looked 

JJpon the haggard mother, looked to see the baby die. 

All day long its plaintive moaning, 

Wrung the heart of Marjery Grey. 

All night long her bosom cradled it. 

A pallid thing of clay. 

Three days more she bore it with her 
( hi her rough and toilsome way, 
Till across its marbled features 
Stole the plague spot of decay. 



Page One Hundred and Seven 



Poems of JH$orii| 



Then she knew that she must leave it — 
In the wilderness to sleep, 
Where the prowling wild beasts only 
Watch above its grave should keep. 

Dumb with grief she sat beside it, 
Oh, how long she never knew. 
There the tales her mother told her 
Of the dear All Father true. 
When the skies were brass above her 
And the earth was cold and wet, 
And when all her tears and pleadings 
Brought no answer down from Him. 

Up she rose still pressing onward 

Through the forest far and wide, 

Till the May flowers bloomed and perished, 

And the sweet June roses died. 

Was she doomed to roam forever o'er this desolate 

earth, 
She the last and only being in those wilds of human 

birth? 
Sometimes from her pathway wolf or black bear stole 

away, 
But never once did human presence 
Bless the sight of Marjery Grey. 

One chill morning in October, when the woods were 

bare and brown, 
Through the ancient streets of Charlestown 
With a strange, bewildered air — 
Walked a gaunt and pallid woman 
Whose disheveled locks of brown, 
O'er her naked head and shoulders 
In the wind was streaming down. 

Wondering glances fell upon her ; 
Women veiled their modest eyes, 
Ere they slowly ventured near her 
Drawn by pitying surprise. 
" 'Tis some crazy one," they whispered. 
Back her tangled locks she tossed — 
"Oh, kind hearts, have mercy on me, 
For I am not mad but lost." 

Then she told her piteous story, 
In a vague, disjointed way, 

Page One Hundred and Eight 



JJoema of JQUortrf 



And with cold, white lips she murmured, 
"Take me home to Robert Grey." 
"But the river," said they pondering, 
"We are on the eastern side." 
How crossed you its turbid waters 
Deep the channel is, and wide? 

But she said she had not crossed it, 

In her strange, erratic course, 

She had wandered far to northward 

Till she reached its fountain source. 

In the dark Canadian forests, 

And then blindly roaming on 

Down the wild New Hampshire valleys, 

Her bewildered feet had gone. 

O ! The joy bells, sweet their ringing, 
On the frosty, autumn air. 
O! the boats across the river, 
How they leaped the tale to bear. 
O ! The wondrous, golden sunset, 
Of that blest October day, 
When the weary wife vyas folded 
To the heart of Robert Grey. . 



Hullo! 

Sam Walter Foss 

Wen you see a man in woe, 
Walk right up and say, "Hullo" 
Say "Hullo and how-d'ye do," 
"How's the world a usin' you? 
Slap the fellow on the back, 
Bring your han' down with a whack ; 
Waltz right up, an' don't go slow, 
Grin and shake an' say "Hullo." 

Is he clothed in rags or sho'? 
Walk right up and say "Hullo!" 
Rags is but a cotton roll 
Jest for wrappin' up a soul ; 
An' a soul is worth a true 
Hale an' hearty "how-d'ye do !" 
Don't wait for the crowd to go, 
Walk right up and say "Hullo!" 

Page One Hundred and Nine 



poems of JUoriij 



Wen big vessels meet, they say, 
They salute an' sail away. 
Jest the same are you and me, 
Lonesome ships upon a sea; 
Each one sailing his own jog 
For a port beyond the fog. 
Let your speakin' trumpet blow, 
Lift your horn an' cry "Hullo!" 

Say "Hullo" an' "how d'ye do," 

Other folks are good as you. 

Wen you leave your house of clay, 

Wanderin' in the Far-away, 

Wen you travel through the strange 

Country t'other side the range, 

Then the souls you've cheered will know 

Who ye be, an' say "Hullo !" 



Home 

Edgar A. Guest 



It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home, 

A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t'roam 

Afore ye really 'predate t»he things ye lef' behind, 

An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em alius on yer mind, 

It don't make any difference how rich ye get t' be, 

How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer 

luxury ; 
It ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king, 
Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round every- 
thing. 

Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a 

minute ; 
Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' in it; 
Within the walls there's got t' be some babies born, and 

then 
Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women good, an' 

men; 
And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn't part 
With anything they ever used — they've grown into yer 

heart ; 
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes 

they wore 
Ye hoard ; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumb-marks on 

the door. 

Page One Hundred and Ten 



|3ocme of piortlf 



Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' sit an' sigh 
An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that death 

is nigh ; 
An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's angel come, 
An' close the eyes o' her that smiled, an' leave her sweet 

voice dumb. 
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an' when yer 

tears are dried, 
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' sanctified ; 
An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories 
O' her that was an' is no more — ye can't escape from 

these. 

Ye've got t' sing and dance fer years, ye've got t' romp 

an' play. 
An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day ; 
Even the roses 'round the porch must blossom year by 

year 
Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear 
Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em jes' t' run 
The way they do, so's they would get the early mornin' 

sun ; 
/Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' 

dome ; 
It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home. 



Hum Um, Not Me 

Anonymous 

Co'se ah ain't sayin' Ah won't do, 
Des what my country want me to. 
But dey's one job dat Ah fo'see, 
Ain't gwine to tach itself to me, 
Hum Um, not me. 

Dat dis heah ahplane stuff no, not me boss 
Ah'll bah some other kind of cross, 
Lak drive a mule er tote a gun, 
But Ah ain't flirtin' wif de sun, 
Hum Um, not me. 

Ef Ah must do a loop de loop, 
Let it be roun' some chicken coop. 
It ain't gwine be up whah de crows 
Kin say Ah's trampin' on dere toes, 
Hum Um, not me. 

Page One Hundred and Eleven 



•Jjlaems of piortfy 



It sho' looks sweet, Ah don' deny, 
To be a oozin' roun' de sky. 
But dat's fo' folks in de mood, 
To pass up love, an' gin, an' food. 
Down heah Ah firs' saw light ob day, 
Down heah am whah Ah's gwine to stay, 
Folks Ah don't keer to hab ma feet git 
Too blamed proud to walk de street, 
Hum Um, not me. 

So Ah'll des wait till Gabriel brings 
Dem ( good ol' fashioned angel wings, 
Den as Ah pass de ahplanes by in pity, 
Ah'll look down an' sigh, 
Hum Um, not me. 



Tit for Tat 

Anonymous 
''Good mornin', Miss Katie," cried young Dickie Fee, 
"Good mornin' again, it's yourself shure I see, 
Lookin' bloomin' as iver ;" but Kate turned away, 
As she said, "Mister Dickie, I wish you good-day, 
You're a heartless desaiver, now don't spake a word, 
Pritty stories about you and that Nora O'ive heard. 
You kna you danced with her that day at the fair, 
And praised her gray eyes and her very rid hair. 
You called her an angel, and said in love you had fell, 
And at night when you parted, you kissed her as well." 

Then young Dickie gave a sly wink, as he said, 
"Just a whisper, dear Katie, this way turn your head, 
I desaived her, my darlin', that's true, 
For I shut both my eyes, Katie, and fancied 'twas you." 
"Well, O'ive no time to stay, so good-bye, Dickie Fee, 
You may desaive her, but you can't desaive me. 
I'm not to be blarnyed — Dick, a word in your ear, 
You had better be off, for my dad's coming here !" 

"Your dad's coming is he? Is that him I see, 
Just bobbin' behind that old black-thorn tree? 
Why, that's Paddy McGwin." "Oh !" said Kate with a 

sneer, 
"You've got your eyes open at last, Dickie dear; 
Well, he's coming to meet me — now listen, my lad, 
If Paddy should kiss me, shure, and won't you be glad? 
For when his lips meet mine, why, what will I do, 
But just shut both my eyes, dear, and fancy 'tis you." 

Page One Hundred and Twelve 



•Pnrms of ;Blnrtl| 



The Highwayman 

Alfred Noyes 

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty 

trees, 
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, 
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple 

moor, 
And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding — 
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door. 

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of 
lace at his chin, 

A coat of the claret velvet and breeches of brown doe- 
skin ; 

They fitted with never a wrinkle : his boots were up to 
the thigh ! 

And he rode with a jeweled twinkle, 

His pistol butts a twinkle, 

His rapier hilt a twinkle, under the jeweled sky. 

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark 

inn-yard, 
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was 

locked and barred ; 
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be 

waiting there 
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, 
Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
Plaiting a dark, red love-knot into her long,black hair. 

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket 

creaked 
Where Tim, the hostler, listened ; his face was white and 

peaked ; 
Hi> eyes were hollow of madness, his hair like mouldy 

hay, 
But he loved the landlord's daughter, 
The landlord's red-lipped daughter, 
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say — 

kiss, my bonnie sweetheart, I'm after a prize 
tonight. 

But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morn- 
ing light ; 

Yet, if they press me sharply, and hurry, and harry me 
through the day, 

Page One Hundred and Thirteen 



•jJoems of Pfarti] 



Then look for me by moonlight, 

I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar 
the way." 

He rose upright in the stirrups ; he scarce could reach her 

hand, 
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face 

burnt like a brand 
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his 

breast ; 
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, 
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!) 
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and gal- 
loped away to the west. 

Part Two 

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at 

noon; 
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, 
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple 

moor, 
A red-coat troop came marching, marching, marching, 
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn- 
door. 

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale 

instead, 
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot 

of her narrow bed ; 
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their 

side ! 
There was death at every window, 
And hell at one dark window ; 
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that 

he would ride. 

They had tied her up to attention, with many a snicker- 
ing jest ; 

They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel be- 
neath her breast ! 

"Now keep good watch !" and they kissed her. 

She heard the head man say — • 

Look for me by moonlight, 

Watch for me by moonlight; 

I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar 
the way ! 

Page One Hundred and Fourteen 



Jlocma of pWtfy 



She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held 
good! 

She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with 

sweat or blood ! 
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the 

hours crawled by like years, 
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, 
Cold, on the stroke of midnight, 
The tip of one finger touched it ! The trigger at least was 

hers! 

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for 

the rest ! 
Up ; she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her 

breast, 
She would not risk their hearing, she would not srive 

again ; 
For the road lay bare in the moonlight; 
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight; 
Blank and bare in the moonlight throbbed to her love's 

refrain. 

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse's 

hoofs ringing clear; 
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that 

they did not hear? 
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the 

hill. 
The highwayman came riding, riding, riding! 
The . red-coats looked to their priming. She stood up, 

straight and still ! 

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence ! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing 

night ! 
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! 
Her eyes grew wide for a moment ; she drew one last 

breath, 
Then her finger moved in the moonlight, 
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him — 

with her death. 

He turned ; he spurred to the Westward ; he did not know 

who stood 
Rowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with 

her own red blood ! 
Not till the dawn he heard it, and slowly blanched to hear 

Page One Hundred and Fifteen 



^jfocme of JlUorilj 



How Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
The landlord's black-eyed daughter, 

Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in 
the darkness there. 

Back he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the 

sky, 
With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier 

brandished high ! 
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red 

was his velvet coat; 
When they shot him down on the highway, 
Down like a dog on the highway, 
And he lay in his blood on the highway, 
With the bunch of lace at his throat. 

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is 

in the trees, 
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy 

seas, 
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple 

moor, 
A highwayman comes riding, riding, riding, 
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn door. 

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn 

yard; 
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is 

locked and barred ; 
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be 

waiting there 
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, 
Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
Plaiting a dark, red love-knot into her long, black hair. 



Mon Pierre 

Wallace Bruse Amsbary 
(From the Ballads of the Bourbannais) 
It ees to-morrow morning dat 
I marray Pierre Minot 
I wander if I mak' a dream, 
Or if it can't be so ; 
But still I see hees picture dere, 
It hang opon de wall ; 
He ees de bol' Pierre Minot, 
He's gat head of dem all. 

Page One Hundred and Sixteen 



ijflocms of piortl] 



I nevere shall forget firs' tarn', 

1 meet dat beeg garcon, 

1 see h 'right 'way opon my heart 

He seem to be moch gone ; 

I t'ink dat's veree bol' of heem, 

Of course I mak, resent, 

For heem to fall on lof wid me 

Before I am consent. 

But somehow here dese French boys, dey 

Hav' gat it on der min', 

Dat dey can hav' de gairl dey wan' 

Wen dey can mak' de fin', 

I say to me, myself, I say, 

I'll geeve heem une lessone, 

I'll mak' heem know not where he ees, 

Or where he want to gone. 

I soon is see, I gat ma man, 

He tak' me off wan side, 

He wan' to know if Sunday nex' 

I wid heem tak' a ride, 

I say to heem, "Young Lettellier 

Was ask me do dat, too ; 

I'm verree sorry, M'sieu Pierre, 

I cannot go wid you." 

Dat was a story dat I tell 

About young Lettellier, 

But when Pierre meet heem on de road, 

I t'ink it was nex' day, 

He mak' present of two black eye, 

He tears hees hat in piece, 

He use heem op mos' mighty rough, 

Lettellier's wan beeg geese. 

An' den two weeks is pass away, 

No wan is com' near me, 

Not even Pierre, who I was sure, 

He could not let me be : 

De boys dey all is drop me lak' 

Wan hot potato ball, 

I wander w'at dat all is mean, 

An' what keep 'way dem all. 

An' w'en t'ree week is come an' pass 
An' Sunday's here again, 
I'm gat to be a lonely gairl 

Page One Hundred and Seventeen 



I^aems of pJortfy 



An' dis is happen den ; 
I see a bran' new buggy com' 
Down road where we leeve at, 
It's drive by Pierre Minot, it ees, 
My heart go pit-a-pat. 

But w'at you t'ink was in ma min', 
Wen he go drivin' by, 
. An' not look h'right or to de lef ' 
But hoi' hees head so high ! 
An' den I stamp my heel wid rage, 
I grin' beneat' my feet 
De rose I pick for heem to geeve, 
My heart turn col' lak' sleet. 

For years all of de garcon here 

Dey do jus' w'at I say — 

An' now dis bol' Pierre Minot, 

He wan' to ac hees way; 

An' so I cry for long, long, tarn', 

Den look down by de gate 

An' op de padt walk Pierre Minot, 

De man I — almos' hate. 

He whistle tune — "Apres du Bal," 
An' "High Born Lady," too, 
An' tip hees hat an' bow to me. 
An' say, "How do you do? 
I not expec' to fin' you home, 
I t'ought you go away 
An' h'ride along each Sunday tarn', 
Wid dat young Lettelier." 

He also say, "I t'ought you had 

Mor' taste dan tak' a ride 

Wid man dat's got free four black eyes, 

I t'ought I would decide 

To come an' geeve you wan gran' spin 

'Way down chemin public, 

Hein ! Bientot, you come wid me, . 

An' be about it quick!" 

Wat's more to do I am not know, 
I'm almos' 'fraid refuse, 
He mak' me gat my hat an' com' ; 
To say no is "no" use, 

Page One Hundred and Eighteen 



JIoentB of -IJortlj 



He lif me op in de high seat, 
Unhitch an' jump in too, 
An' soon we male' t'ree forty gait — 
My ! how dat horse he flew. 

De boggay he has got red wheels, 

De wheels she's rubber tire — 

An' w'en dey go spin down de road 

Dey seem lak' dere on fire; 

1 almos' t'ink if Pierre not hoi' 

Mos' clos' on tight to me, 

I would be fri'ht ver' near to death, 

I's scare' as I can be. 

But somehow w'en hees gr'ad, beeg arm 

Was hoi' me roun' de wais' ! 

I don' gat w'ite som' mor' wid fear, 

But turn red on de face. 

< >h my wid rage I'm mad wid heem 

Wat could a poor gairl do, 

For hav' a man cut op lak' dat, 

An' ac' lak' hees bran' new? 

Den Pierre look op an' catch ma eye, 

An' w'en to me he say, 

"Rosalie, dear, w'at do you t'ink, 

Ees it not pretty day?" 

I say to heem, "De day's all right, 

But any fool would know 

All 'bout dat 'fore dey spec' it out, 

An' tell you 'bout it so." 

De twilight com', we're jogging 'long 
De road down L'Arable Way, 
An' Pierre keep talkin' all de'tam,' 
I can't gat word to say. 
He tell me, "Dere is une fine farm, 
How do you lak' the trees, 
Dat line de orchard on de lef, 
For keep out nort' win' breeze? 

Dere is new house a building op 
De roof is almos' done. 
I order dat for you an' me 
W'en you an' me are wan." 
An' den he smile on de same way; 
I use to do dat, too, 



Page One Hundred and Nineteen 



^0em0 of pJorilj 



Wen I had garcon on de string, 
An' keep dem in a stew. 

I try to gat away from heem, 
But Pierre gat tighter grip, 
An' den he talk mos' different, 
As 'long de road we skip ; 
He say, "Ma Rosalie, ma chere," 
In voice dat's sof an' low, 
I nevere heard so sweet a soun' 
As he is speak, dat so. 

"Ah, mon ami, can you not see 

I treat you rough because, 

Dat's only way to keep out reach 

Your pretty tiger claws." 

An' w'en he see de leddle tear, 

He fol' me to hees breas' 

An' kees me once, maybe t'ree tarn, 

An' smood me wid caress. 

An' den he ax w'en I marray 

An' nevere from heem part. 

An' den som't'ing jump on my t'roat, 

I t'ink it was my heart; 

I cannot speak a word to heem, 

My face all blush wid red, 

No better he ees understan' 

If hundred word I said. 

It is tomorrow morning dat 

I marray Pierre Minot, 

I wander if I mak' a dream, 

Or if it can be so. 

But still I see hees picture dere, 

It hang upon de wall ; 

He is Mon Pierre I lof so well, 

He's bes' man of dem all. 



The Habitant 

William Henry Drummond 

De place I get born, me, is up on de reever 
Near foot of de rapide dat's call Cheval Blanc 
Beeg" mountain behin' it, so high you can't climb it 
An' whole place she's mebbe two honder arpent. 

Page One Hundred and Twenty 



"Poems of J^ortlj 



De fader of me, he was habitant farmer, 
Ma gran' fader too, an' hees fader also, 
Dey don't mak' no monee, but dat isn't fonny 
For it's not easy get ev'ryt'ing, you mus' know — 

All de sam' dere is somet'ing dey got ev'ryboddy, 
Dat's plaintee good healt', wat de monee can't geev, 
So I'm workin' away dere, an' happy for stay dere 
On farm by de reever, so long I was leev. 

O ! dat was de place w'en de spring tarn she's comin', 
Wen snow go away, an' de sky is all blue — 
W'en ice lef de water, an' sun is get hotter 
An' back on de medder is sing de gouglou. 

W'en small sheep is firs' comin' out on de pasture, 
Deir nice leetle tail stickin' up on deir back, 
Dey ronne wit' deir moder, an' play wit' each oder 
An' jomp all de tarn jus' de sam' dey was crack — 

An' ole cow also, she's glad winter is over, 
So she kick herse'f up, an' start off on de race 
Wit' de two-year-old heifer, dat's purty soon lef her, 
W'y ev'ryt'ing 's crazee all over de place ! 

An' down on de reever de wil' duck is quackin' 
Along by de shore leetle san' piper ronne — 
De bullfrog he's gr-rompin' an' dore' is jompin' 
Dey all got deir own way for mak' it de fonne. 

But spring's in beeg hurry, an' don't stay long wit' us 
An' firs' t'ing we know, she go off till nex' year, 
Den bee commence hummin', for summer is comin', 
And purty soon corn's gettin' ripe on de ear. 

Dat's very nice tarn for wake up on de mornin' 
An' lissen de rossignol sing ev'ry place, 
Feel sout' win' a-blowin', see clover a-growin', 
An' all de worl' laughin' itself on de face. 

Mos' ev'ry day raf it is pass on de rapide 

De voyageurs singin' some old chanson 

'Bout girl down de reever, too bad dey mus' leave her 

But comin' back soon wit' beaucoup d'argent. 

An' den w'en de fall an' de winter come roun' us, 
An' bird of de summer is all fly away, 
W'en mebbe she's snowin' an' nort' win' is blowin' 
An' night is mos' t'ree tarn so long as de day. 

Page One Hundred and Twenty-One 



^oemsi of piortfy 



You t'ink it was bodder de habitant farmer ? 

Not at all — he is happy an feel satisfy, 

An' cole may las' good w'ile, so long as de woodpile 

Is ready for burn on de stove bye an' bye. 

Wen I got plaintee hay put away on de stable, 
So de sheep an' cow, dey got no chance to freeze, 
An' de hen all togedder — I don't min' de wedder — 
De nort' win' may blow jus' so moche as she please. 

An' some cole winter night how I wish you can see us 

Wen I smoke on de pipe, an' de ole woman sew 

By de stove of T'ree Reever, ma wife's fader geev 

her 
On day we get marry, dat's long tarn ago. 

De boy an' de girl, dey was readin' its lesson, 
De cat on de corner she's bite heem de pup, 
Ole "Carleau" he's snorin' an' beeg stove is roarin' 
So loud dat I'm scare purty soon she bus' up. 

Philomene — dat's de oldes' — is sit on de winder 
An' kip just so quiet lak wan leetle mouse, 
She say de more finer moon never was shiner — 
Very fonny, for moon isn't dat side de house. 

But purty soon den, we hear foot on de outside, 
An' some wan is place it hees han' on de latch, 
Dat's Isidore Goulay, las' fall on de Brule 
He's tak' it firs' prize on de grand ploughin' match. 

Ha ! ha ! Philomene ! dat was smart trick you play us 
Come help de young feller tak' snow from hees neck, 
Dere's not'ing for hinder you come off de winder 
Wen moon you was look for is come, I expec, — 

Isidore, he is tole us de news on de parish 

'Bout hees Lajeunesse Colt — travel two forty, sure, 

'Bout Jeremie Choquette, come back from Woon- 

socket 
An' t'ree new leetle twin on Madame Vail lancour'. 

But nine o'clock strike, an' de chil'ren is sleepy, 
Mese'f an' ole woman can't stay up no more ; 
So alone by de fire — 'cos dey say dey ain't tire — 
We lef Philomene an' de young Isidore. 

Page One Hundred and Twenty-Two 



"Poems of pWtlj 



I s'pose dcy be talkin' beeg lot on de kitchen 
'Bout all de nice moon dey was see on de sky, 
For I'hilomene's takin' long tarn get awaken 
Nex't day, she's so sleepy on bote of de eye. 

Dat's wan of dem t'ings, ev'ry tarn on de fashion, ' 
An' 'bout nices' t'ing dat was never be seen. 
Got not'ing for say me — I spark it sam' way me 
W'en I go see de moder ma girl Philomene. 

We leev very quiet 'way back on de contree 
Don't put on sam style lak de big village, 
W'en we don't get de monee you t'ink dat is fonny 
An' mak' plaintee sport on de Bottes - Sauvages. 

But I tole you — dat's true — I don't go on de city 
I f you geev de fine house an' beaucoup d'argent — 
I rader be stay me, an' spen' de las' day me 
On farm by de rapide dat's call Cheval Blanc. 



The Tin Gee-Gee 

Fred Cape 

I was strolling one day, down the Lowther Arcade, 

That place for children's toys — 

Where you can purchase a dolly or a spade, 

For your good little girls and boys. 

And as I passed a certain stall, 

Said a little wee voice to me: 

"Oh, I am a Colonel, in a little cock'd hat, 

And I ride on a tin gee-gee." 

Then I looked, and a little, tin soldier I saw, 

In his little cocked hat so fine ; 

He'd a little tin sword, that shone in the light, 

As he led a glittering line 

Of tin hussars, whose sabres flashed in a manner a la 

militaree, 
Whilst that little, tin soldier he rode at their head, 
So proud on his tin gee-gee. 

Then that little tin soldier he sobbed and he sighed, 

So I patted his little tin head. 

"What vexes your little tin soul?" said I, 

And this is what he said ; 

Page One Hundred and Twenty-Three 



^jloems of piartij 



"I've been on this stall a very long time, 
And I'm marked one-and-nine, as you see, 
While just on the shelf above my head, 
There's a fellow marked two-and-three. 

Now he hasn't got a sword and he hasn't got a horse, 

And I'm quite as good as he; 

Then why mark me at one-and-nine, 

And him at two-and-three? 

There's a pretty little dolly girl over there, and I'm madly 

in love with she; 
But now that I'm only marked one-and-nine, she turns up 

her nose at me, 
She turns up her little wax nose at me and flirts with 

two-and-three. 

"And, oh ! she's dressed in a beautiful dress, 

It's a dress I do admire; 

She has pearly, blue eyes that open and shut, 

When worked inside by a wire. 

And, once on a time, when the folks had gone, she winked 

her eye at me, 
But now that I'm only marked one-and-nine she turns 

up her nose at me, 
She turns up her little snub nose at me, 
And 'carries on' with two-and-three." 

"Cheer up, my little tin man," said I, 

"I'll see what I can do ; 

You're a fine, little fellow, and it is a shame 

That she should so treat you." 

So I took down the label from the upper shelf, and I 

labelled him two-and-three, 
And I marked the other one, one-and-nine, which was 

very, very wrong of me. 
But I felt so sorry for that little tin soul, 
As he rode on his tin gee-gee. 

Now that little tin soldier he puffed with pride, 

At being marked two-and-three; 

And that saucy, little dolly-girl smiled once more, 

For he'd risen in life, do you see ! 

And it's so in this world, for I'm in love with a maiden 

of high degree, 
But I am only marked one-and-nine, and the other chaps 

two-and-three ; 
And a girl never looks at one-and-nine, 
With a possible two-and-three. 

Page One Hundred and Twenty-Four 



ijJoenta of JHJJortlj 



De Cirque at Ol' Ste. Anne 

Wallace Bruce Amsbrary 
l From the Ballads of the Bourbannais) 

I'm ride overe from Papinear, premier-classe cirque for 

see, 
I );it s advertise for com' Ste. Anne an' mak' som' fun 

vid me. 
J'm tak' along my Julie gairl, I gat her on de way, 
Ve're off for have une jolie tarn', a full all holiday. 

\ e >ee de animal so vil', gran' lion in de cage, 
Ik's valk it op an' down aroun' lak he vas in a rage. 
Regardes monkey an' giraffe vit neck so long an' slim, 
You's almos' need a telephone to say "hello" at him. 

Beeg crowd was all de cage aroun' for see w'at dey could 

see, 
Dey wan' to gal dere money's wort', mos' squeeze de life 

off me ; 
We see de zebra; den I t'ink wil' man from Borneo, 
An' w'en we gat t'roo dat moch dere into beeg tent we go. 

I'm buy pop-corn, also peanut, donnay to my Julie, 
Ve's rat it all togedder op, Oh my, we have une spree! 
Nex' t'ing ve sat in hippodrome, in deux grand reserve 

seat — 
I pay ten cent cxtray for dem for view dey can't be beat. 

So moch for sec dat's goin' on, I'm gat all mix op yet; 
It's .ill so good I can't mak' out jus' w'ere ma eyes for set. 
■ man vas op on high trapeze, an' pretty lady — Oo ! 
She's hang l>v teeth an' hair, by gar! t'row keeses at you, 
too! 

A' w'en my eyes light on dat gairl, Julie vas gat jealous; 
She mak' de lips so poutin', so vid rage she nearly bus'; 
An' den I tak' her sof, white ban' an' hold it gentle so, 
An' try to feex it up all h'right, but fin' it quite hard go. 

Julie vas feel moch better ven dat lady go avay, 
She laugh vid me at funny clown, at all de t'ings he say; 
excentrique come elephan' stan' right out on his 

head, 
An' dm he lay upon de groun', preten' dat she is dead. 

One Hundred ami Twenty-Five 



jjlosms of pJorilj 



De acrobat he's tumble roun' all overe de whole place; 
De ring man shout an' crack his whip at horses in de race. 
Den ve tak' in de concert grand, an' lak' dat might' well, 

too, 
An' w'en ve see de peoples go, ve know dat show vas 

t'roo. 

An' w'en I'm takin' Julie home dat night de moon vas 

shine — 
I'm mak' it to her mighty plain, I'm ax for her to be mine ; 
But Julie say she very 'fraid, I'm lof Ma'm'selle Tra- 

peese, 
Because she grand an' t'row de kees. (I no like Julie 

tease.) 

An' so I up an' tole yer dat I lof jus' her onlee. 

Her cheeks dey blush de colour rouge, her eyes flash lak' 

de sea, 
Her lips vas lak de gran' sunset, I can no' long keep 'vay, 
I'm mak' de smack right on de spot, Oh, vat a holiday! 

I'm mak' de marry quite ver' soon, an' now, you under- 

stan' 
Pourquoi I tak' my Julie gairl pour cirque at ol' St. Anne. 



De Captaine of De "Marguerite' 

Wallace Bruce Amsbary 
(From The Ballads of the Bourbonnais) 
You vant to know who 'tis I am? 

You're stranger man, I see ; 
I don't min' tell you som't'ing 

Concern' de life of me. 
My fadder's com' from Canadaw, 

'Long wid Pere Chiniquy, 
'Vay in de early fifty year 

To Ian' of libertee. 
An' I am born here on de State, 

An' rose soon high to be 
De Captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sails de Kankakee. 

De people all is know me here 

When I vent down de street, 
Vit' moch respec' dey bow to me, 

Ven evere dem I'd meet. 
De ladies call me "Captaine," 

De men is call me "Cap;" 

Page One Hundred and Twenty-Six 



Querns of ,liilortI| 



De children overe de 'hole place 
Dey's nios'lv call me "Pap;" 

I'm "caractere publique," dey say 
Wat evere dat may be, 

I'm Captaine of de Marguerite 
Dat sails de Kankakee. 

An' u'en de Great Beeg Var bus' out — 

In nineteen seventeen, 
No more paytr'otic man dan me 

I tink you nevere seen. 
I've now de chance to go to front; 

I vill be brave, bol' man 
An' finish up de Bosch by gar! 

But I fight not on Ian', 
I go upon ze gentlemen 

Of var, I say to me : 
I'm Captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sails de Kankakee. 

An' den I put de Marguerite 

In dry dock for avile; 
I gat me to Chicago town 

My face is all wan smile; 
Dey mak' recruit for navey dere, 

For seaman advertise ; 
De ofiicere he's dress' lak doode, 

Say : I's mos' undersize. 
"Vat exper'ence it is you have, 

My man?" he say to me. 
Den 1 tol' heem 'bout de Marguerite 

Dat sails de Kankakee. 

An' ven he hear me all of dis, 

Pie mak' de gran' salute 
An' say: he vill accept me — 

Mighty glad of dat to boot; 
Ven M'sieu Adm'ral Simms by gar! 

De Boss man of de fleet, 
Vos hear dat I join de navey 

Vill lif heem off hees feet. 
All of dis talk I hear I t'ink 

Is gratify to me 

aptaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sails de Kankakee. 

Page One Hundred and Twenty-Seven 



^jloems ai piottl] 



An' ven ve lay de mine barage 

All overe de Nort' Sea 
I's man de boat dat's go in front 

To mak' de way all free. 
Sometime dose bullet dey com' fas' 

An' death Hee's com' dere too; 
An' in dat hell of fire an' smoke 

Vos awful how-de-do, 
It's differante from quiet tarns 

Dan ven I go to sea. 
I was Captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sails de Kankakee. 

An' ven we meet a submarine 

I's cut up wan beeg dash. 
I's on de little chaser dat 

Is smash 'em all to smash. 
De British boat, an' Frenchman too 

Were not in it at all wid us 
We mak' 'em scat lak' grasshoppere 

Wid shells we mak' 'em bus' 
I's man behin' de gun — I's drop 

De depth bomb don't you see 
"ee Captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sails de Kankakee. 

/ a ven de war is overe, 

± gat Honerab' Discharge 
It's den I t'ink I've tam to t'ink 

Of Rosalie Le Farge. 
Dat girl shee's twice refuse me wance; 

But now dat I'm hero 
Shee's t'ink about me two, t'ree tam 

Before shee's let me go. 
Shee's glad I no mak' bait for shark 

Dat's swim upon de sea 
But still de Captaine of my boat 

Dat sails de Kankakee. 

At home dey meet me wid brass ban', 

Sky rocket and flambeau ; 
Dey turn de town upside overe 

To me de rose dey t'row ; 
I's ride in state to Cite Hall, 

To me day mak' a speak, 
I try to mak' wan, too, but I 

Gat meex up an' I steek ; 

Page One Hundred and Twenty-Eight 



ffitrema of 33ffortf| 



I's talk about de country dat 

I save, an' 'bout de flag, 
An' den I set me down again — 

For me I no lak' brag. 
It's not become de hero man 

To speak an' talk so free 
Nor de Captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sails de Kankakee. 

An' den dere vas de gran' banquay 

To honneur me dey geeve, 
De maire an' all de council here 

In Kankakee dat leeve. 
Dey mak' a toas', I geeve wan back, 

Ve haf ' some jollie fon ; 
An' den we sing an' laugh an' shout 

Den de 'hole place we rone; 
Dey's fill me op wid cognac 

Till again I's on de sea 
Former Captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sails de Kankakee. 

An' now I'm com' back from de var 

I t'ink I's rose op high, 
If I keep on a going op 

I'll gat on top de sky. 
Dey say I vas premiere factor 

In fight opon de sea. 
An' now when I go down de street 

Here's w'at dey say to me; 
De ladies call me "Admiral," 

De men is call me "Ad," 
De children overe de 'hole place 

Dey's lov' to call me "Dad," 
Dat's why I wear de plume superb 

Commander Gran' you see 
For I'm Admiral now of de 'hole fleet 

Dat sails de Kankakee. 

So many people ask me, "Ad, 

Who is it win de fight 
An' put de Bosch upon de blink 

An' finish heem up right? 
It ees wan questione delicate 

I <i a^k of me who done 
So much to win de victory 

An' put 'em on de run, 

Page One Hundred and Twenty-Nine 



ijfoems of JUJorttj 



De British claim, de Frenchman claim 

But if you wan' to learn, 
I'll tell you on de quietness 

About de 'hole concern. 
Wid modestee and reluctance 

I do admit 'twas me, 
Former Captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sails de Kankakee. 



The Ould Plaid Shawl 

(Selected) 
Not far from old Kinvara in the merry month of May, 
When birds were singing cheerily there came across my 

way, 
As if from out the sky above an angel chanced to fall, 
A little Irish colleen in an 'ould, plaid shawl. 

She tripped along right joyously, a basket on her arm, 
And oh ! her face, and oh ! her grace, the soul of saint 

would charm. 
Her brown hair rippled o'er her brow, but greatest charm 

of all, 
Was her modest blue eyes beaming 'neath her ould, plaid 

shawl. 

I courteously saluted her, "God save you, Miss," says I, 
"God save you kindly, Sir," said she, and shyly passed 

me by, 
Off went my heart along with her, a captive in her thrall, 
Imprisoned in the corner of her ould plaid shawl. 

Enchanted with her beauty rare, I gazed in pure delight, 
Till round an angle of the road she vanished from my 

sight, 
But ever since I sighing say, as I that scene recall, 
"The grace of God about you and your ould plaid shawl." 

Some men sigh for riches and some men live for fame, 
And some on history's pages hope to win a glorious 

name; 
My aims are not ambitious and my wishes are but small, 
You might wrap them all together in an ould plaid shawl. 

I'll seek her all through Galway, and I'll seek her all'' 

through Clare, 
I'll search for tale or tidings of my trav'ler ev'rywhere 
For peace of mind I'll never find until my own I call, 
That little Irish colleen in her ould plaid shawl. 

Page One Hundred and Thirty 



•JjJoents of piorirf 



He Wasn't In It 

(Selected) 

They built a church at his very door, 

He wasn't in it. 
They brought him a scheme for relieving the poor, 

He wasn't in it. 
"Let 'um work fer themselves as he had done, 
They wouldn't need help from anyone, 

He wasn't in it. 

If they hadn't wasted each golden minute!" 

He wasn't in it. 
His friends in the hall of virtue met 

He wasn't in it. 
He watched their progress without regret, 
Too high the aim — for him to win* — 

He wasn't in it. 

A carriage crept slowly along one day, 

And he was in it. 
The funeral trappings made quite a display, 

And he was in it. 
St. Peter met him with book and bell, 
"You have purchased a ticket to — 
Well — your elevator goes down in a minute," 

And — he was in it. 



Kentucky Philosophy 

Harrison Robertson 

You Wi'yam, cum 'ere, suh, dis instunce. Wu' dat you 

got under dat box? 
I do' want no foolin' — you hear me? Wut you say? 

Ain't nu'h'n but rocks? 
'Peahs ter me you's owdashus p'ticler. S'posin' dey's uv 

a new kine, 
I'll des take a look at dem rocks. Hi yi! der you think 

dat I's bline? 

I calls dat a plain water-million, you scamp, en I knows 

whah it growed ; 
It conies fum de Jimmerson cawn-fiel', dab on ter side 

er de road. 
You stole it, you rascal — you stole it! I watched you 

fum down in de lot, 



Page One Hundred and Thirtv-One 



Iloems of JUorlfy 



En time I gets th'ough wid you, nigger, you won't eb'n 

be a grease spot ! 
I'll fix you. Mirandy! Mirandy ! go cut me a hick'ry — 

make 'ase! 
En cut me de toughes' en keenes' you c'n fine anywhah on 

de place. 
I'll larn you, Mr. Wi'yam Joe Vetters, ter steal en ter 

lie, you young sinner, 
Disgracin' yo' ol' Christian mammy, en makin' her leave 

cookin' dinner! 

Now ain't you ashamed er yo'se'f, sur? I is. I's 'shamed 



you s my son 



En de holy accorjan angel he's 'shamed er wut you has 

done; 
En he's tuk it down up yander in coal-black, blood-red 

letters, 
"One water-million stoled by Wi'yam Josephus Vetters." 

En wut you s'posen Brer Bascom, yo' teacher at Sunday 

school, 
U'd sav ef he knowed how you's broke de good Lawd's 

'Gol'n Rule? 
Boy, whah's de raisin' I give you? Is you boun' fuh ter 

be a black villiun? 
I's s'prised dat a chile er yo' mammy 'ud steal any man's 

water-million. 

En I's now gwiner cut it right open, en you shain't have 

nary bite, 
Fuh a boy who'll steal water-millions — en dat in de day's 

broad light, 
Ain't — Lawdy ! it's green ! Mirandy ! Mirandy ! come on 

wi' dat switch ! 
Well, stealin' a g-r-e-e-n water-million! who ever yeered 

tell er des sich ? 

Cain't tell w'en dey's ripe? W'y, you thump 'urn, en 

we'n dey go pank dey is green ; 
But w'en dey go punk, now you mine me, dey's ripe — en 

dal's wut I mean. 
En nex' time you hook water-millions — you heered me, 

you ign'ant, you hunk, 
Ef vou do' want a lickin' all over, be sho dat dey allers 

go "punk !" 



'age One Hundred and Thirty-Two 






^octtts of 33florth 



The Smack in School 

W. P. Palmkk 

A district school, not far away, 
'Mid Berkshire hills, one Winter's day, 
Was humming with its wonted noise, 
Of three-score mingled girls and boys. 

Some few upon their tasks intent, 
But more on furtive mischief bent; 
The while the master's downward look, 
Was fastened on a copy-book. 

When suddenly, behind his back, 
Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack, 
As 'twere a battery of bliss, 
Let off in one tremendous kiss. 

"What's that?'' the startled master cries, 
"That, tliir," a little imp replies, 
"Wath William Willeth, if you pleathe ; 
1 thaw him kith Thuthanna Peathe." 

With frown to make a statue thrill, 
The master thunder'd, "Hither, Will," 
Like wretch o'ertaken in his track, 
With stolen chattels on his hack, 

Will hung his head in fear and shame, 
And to the awful presence came — 
A great, green, bashful simpleton, 
The butt of all good-natured fun. 

With smile suppressed and birch upraised, 
The threatener faltered; "I'm amazed 
That you, my biggest pupil, should 
Be guilty of an act so rude ! 

Before the whole set school to boot; 
What evil genius put you to't?" 

1 'Twas she. herself, sir," sohh'd the lad, 
"I did not mean to be so had : 

I'.ut. when Susannah shook her curls. 
And whisper'd, 1 was 'fraid of girls, 
And dursn'1 kiss a baby's doll, 

I couldn't stand it. sir. at all, 

One Hundred and Thirty-Three 



^jJoems of JHUorllj 



But up and kissed her on the spot! 

I know— boo-hoo— I ought to not, 

But, somehow, from her looks — boo-hoo- 

I thought she kind o' wish'd me to." 




In the Usual Way 

(Selected) 

There was once a little man and his rod and line he took, 

For he said, "I'll go a-fishing in the neighboring brook" ; 

Now it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day, 

And they met — in the usual way. 

Then he sat him down beside her and an hour or two 

went by, 
But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie: 
"I thought," she shyly whispered, "You'd be fishing all 

the day?" 

And he was — in the usual way. 

So he gravely took his rod in hand and threw his line 

about, 
But the fish perceived distinctly that he was not looking 

out; 
And he said, "Sweetheart, I love you," but she said she 

couldn't stay, 

But she did — in the usual way. 

Then the stars came out above them and she gave a little 
sigh, 

As they watched the silver ripples like the moments run- 
ning by ; 

"We must say good-bye," he whispered by the soldiers 
old and gray, 

And they did — in the usual way. 

And day by day, beside the stream they wandered to and 

fro, 
And day by day the fishes swam securely down below, 
Till this little storv ended, as such little stories may, 
Very much — in the usual way. 

And now that they are married, do they always build 

and coo? 
Do they never fret and worry as other couples do ? 
Does he cherish her and love her ; does she honor and 

obey? 

Well, they do — in the usual way. 

Page One Hundred and Thirty-Four 



^Joems of ptarth 



Signs of the Times 

Paul Laurence Dunbar 

Air a-gittin' cool an' coolah, 
Frost a-comin' in de night, 
Hicka' nuts an' wa'nuts fallin', 
Possum keepin' out o' sight. 
Tu'key struttin' in de ba'nya'd, 
Nary step so proud ez his ; 
Keep on struttin', Mistah Tu'key 
Yo' do' know what time it is. 

Cidah press commence a-squeakin' 

Eatin' apples sto'ed away, 

Chillun swa'min' 'roun' lak ho'nets, 

Huntin' aigs ermung de hay. 

Mistah Tu'key, keep on gobblin' 

At de geese a-flyin' souf, 

( tomph! dat bird do' know whut's comin' ; 

Ef he did he'd shet his mouf. 

Pumpkin gittin' good an' yallah 
Mek me open up my eyes ; 
Seems lak it's a-lookin' at me, 
Jes' a-la'in' dah savin' "Pies." 
Tu'key gobbler gwine 'roun' blowin', 
Gwine 'roun' gibbin sas an' slack; 
Keep on talkin', Mistah Tu'key, 
You ain't seed no almanac. 

Fa'mer walkin' th'oo de ba'nya'd 
Seein' how things is comin' on, 
Sees ef all de fowls is fatt'nin' — 
Good times comin' sho's you bo'n. 
Hyeahs dat tu'key gobbler braggin', 
Den his face break in a smile — 
Nebbah min\ you sassy rascal, 
He's gwine nab you atter while. 

Choppin' suet in de kitchen, 

Stonin' raisins in de hall. 

Beef a-cookin' fu' de mince meat, 

Spices groun' — T smell 'em .all. 

Look hyeah, Tu'key, stop <lat gobblin 5 

You ain' limed de sense ob feah, 

You ol' fool, yo' naik's in dangah. 

Do' you know Thansksgibbin's hyeah? 

Page One Hundred and Thirty-Five 



^oems of piorilj 



In the Morning 

Paul Laurence Dunbar 

'Lias ! 'Lias ! Bless de Lawd ! 
Don' you know de day's erbroad? 
Ef you don' git up, you scamp, 
Dey'll be trouble in dis camp. 
T'ink I gwine to let you sleep, 
Wile I meks yo' boa'd an' keep? 
Dat's a putty howdy-do — 
Don' you hyeah me, 'Lias — you ? 

Bet ef I come crost dis flo', 
You won' fin' no time to sno'. 
Daylight all a-shinin' in 
Wile you sleep — w'y hit's a sin ! 
Ain't de can'le-light enough, 
To bu'n out widout a snuff, 
But you go' de mo'nin' thoo 
Bu'nin' up de daylight too? 

'Lias, don' you hyeah me call? 
No use tu'nin' to'ds de wall ; 
I kin hyeah dat mattus squeak, 
Don' you hyeah me we'n I speak? 
Dis hyeah clock done struck off six 
Ca'line, bring me dem ah sticks ! 
Oh, you down, suh; huh, you dow 
Look hyeah, don' you daih to frown 

Ma'ch yo'se'f an' wash yo' face, 
Don' you splattah all de place ; 
I got somep'n else to do, 
'Sides jes' cleanin' aftah you. 
Tek dat comb an' fix yo' haid — 
Looks jes' lak a feddah baid. 
Look hyeah, boy, I'll let you see 
You sha'n't roll yo' eyes at me. 

Come hyeah, bring me dat ah strap ! 
Boy, I'll whup you 'twell you drap; 
You done felt yo'se'f too strong, 
An' you sholy got me wrong. 
Set down at dat table thaih, 
Jes' you whimpah ef you daih ! 
Evan mo'nin' on dis place, 
Seem lak I mus' lose my grace. 



Page One Hundred and Thirty-Six 



^ocma of JlHortl} 



I'Dl' yo* linn's an' bow yo' haid — 
Wait ontwell de blessin* 's said; 
"Laud' have mussy on ouah souls" 
( Don' you daih to tech dem rolls.) 
"Bless de food we gwine to eat." 
(You set still — I see yo' feet; 
You jes' try dat trick agin!) 
"Ciin ns peace an' joy. Amen !" 



Little Brown Baby 

Paul Laurence Dunbar 

Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes, 
Come to yo' pappy an' set on his knee. 
What you been doin', suh — makin' san' pies? 
Look at dat bib — you's ez du'ty ez me. 
Look at dat mouf — dat's merlasses, I bet ; 
Lome hyeah, Maria, an' wipe off his han's. 
Bees gwine to ketch you an' eat you up yit, 
Bern' so sticky an' sweet — goodness lan's ! 

Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes, 

Who's pappy 's darlin, an' who's pappy's chile? 

Who is it all de day nevah once tries 

Fu' to be cross, er once loses dat smile ? 

Whah did you git dem teef ? My, you's a scamp ! 

Whah did dat dimple come f'om in yo' chin? 

Pappy do' know you — I b'fieves you's a tramp ; 

Mammy, dis hyeah's some ol' straggler got in ! 

Let's th'ow him outen de do' in de san', 
We do' want stragglers a-layin' 'roun' hyeah; 
Let's gin him 'way to de big buggah-man, 
I know he's hidin' erroun' hyeah right neah. 
Buggah-man, buggah-man, come in de do', 
Hyeah's a bad boy you kin have fu' to eat. 
Mammy an' pappy do' want him no mo', 
Swaller him down f'om his haid to his feet! 

Dah, now, I t'ought dat you'd hug me up close. 
Go back, ol' buggah, you sha'n't have dis boy. 
He aint no tramp ner no straggler, of co'se ; 
He's pappy's pa'dner an' playmate an' joy. 
Come to yo' pallet now — go to yo' res'; 
Wisht you could alius know ease an' cleah skies ; 
Wisht you could stay jes' a chile on my breas' — 
Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes! 

Page One Hundred and Thirty-Seven 



^oemB of piortfy 



The Old Front Gate 

Paul Laurence Dunbar 

Wen daih's chillun in de house, 
Dey keep on a-gittin' tall ; 
But de folks don' seem to see, 
Dat dey's growin' up at all. 
Twell dey — fin' out some fine day 
Dat de galls has 'menced to grow, 
Wen dey notice as dey pass, 
Dat de front gate's saggin' low. 

Wen de hinges creak and cry, 
An' de bahs go slantin' down, 
You kin reckon dat hit's time 
Fu' to cas' yo' eye erroun', 
'Cause daih ain't no 'sputin' dis, 
Hit's de trues' sign to show, 
Dat daih's cou'tin' goin' on 
Wen de ol' front gate sags low. 

Oh, you grumble an' complain, 
An' you prop dat gate up right. 
But you notice right nex' day, 
Dat hit's in de same ol' plight. 
So you fin' dat hit's a rule, 
An' daih ain' no use to blow, 
Wen de gals is growin' up, 
Dat de front gate will sag low. 

Den you t'ink o' yo' young days, 
Wen you cou'ted Sally Jane, 
An' you so't o' feel ashamed 
Fu' to grumble an' complain, 
'Cause yo' ricerlection says, 
An' you know hits wo'ds is so, 
Dat huh pappy had a time, 
Wid his front gate saggin' low. 

So you jes' looks on an' smiles, 
At 'em leanin' on de gate, 
Tryin' to t'ink whut he kin say 
Fu' to keep him daih so late, 
But you lets dat gate erlone, 
Fu' yo' 'sperunce goes to show, 
'Twell de gals is ma'ied off, 
It gwine keep on saggin' low. 



Page One Hundred and Thirty-Eight 



fin ruts of H'Wth 



Encouragement 

Paul Laurence Dunbar 

Who dal knockin' at de do'? 

Why, Ike Johnson, — yes, fit' sho! 

Come in. Ike, ['s mighty glad 

you come down. 1 t'ought you's mad 

At me 'bout de othah night, 

An' was stayin' 'way fu' spite. 

Say, now, was you mad fu' trne, 

Wen I kin' o' laughed at you? 

Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f. 

"1 ain't no use a-lookin' sad, 
An' a-mekin' out you's mad; 
Ef you's gwine to be so glum, 
Wondah why you evah come. 
I don't like nobody 'roun' 
1 )at jes' shet dey mouf an' frown, — 
Oh. now, man, don't act a dunce! 
Cain't you talk? I tol' you once, 
Speak up, Ike, an 'spress yo'se'f. 

Wha'd you come hyeah fu' tonight? 
Body'd t'ink yo' haid ain't right, 
J \ done all dat I kin do, — 
Dressed perticular, jes' fu' you ; 
Reckon I'd 'a' bettah wo' 
My ol' ragged calico. 
Aftah all de pains I's took, 
Cain't you tell me how I look? 
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f. 

Bless my soul ! I 'mos' fu'got 

Tellin' you 'bout Tildy Scott. 

I km't you know, come Thu'sday night, 

She gwine may Lucius White? 

Miss Lize say I alius wuh 

Heap sight laklier'n huh ; 

An' she'll git me somep'n new, 

Ef I wants to ma'y too. 

Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f. 

I could ma'y in a week, 
Ef de man I wants 'ud speak. 
Tildy's presents'll be fine. 
But dey wouldn't ekal mine. 

Page One Hundred and Thirty-Nine 



^oems of piorify 



Him whut gits me fu 'a wife 
'LI be proud, you bet yo' life. 
Fs had offers ; some ain't quit ; 
But I hasn't ma'ied yit! 
Speak up, Ike an' 'spress yo'se'f. 

Ike, I loves you, — yes I does ; 
You's my choice, and alius was. 
Laffin at you ain't no harm. 
Go 'way, dahky, whah's yo arm? 
Hug me closer — dah, dat's right ! 
Wasn't you a awful sight, 
Havin' me to baig you so. 
Now ax whut you want to know, 
Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f. 



Da Farmer 

*T. A. Daly 

I don'ta care eef all dees town 

Turn upsi' down, 
An' earthquake com' along som' day, 
An' bust eet up, I gona 'way : 

I won't be dere ! 
At last I gonna turn my face 
From evratheeng een deesa place, 

I don'ta care. 

I don'ta care for town nohow ; 

I'm farmer now. 
I gotta house dat stan's alone, 
Three leetla rooms — but all my own — 

Wan bed, two chair, 
Wan stove, two table, an' wan wife, 
So for dees town, you bat my life, 

I don'ta care. 

I don'ta care for ceety street, 

Eet smals not sweet,- 
But now I know how mooch eet's worth 
To own som' leetla cleena earth, 

To own som' air 
Dat's sweet as wine upon da breath- 
Here even eef I starve to death, 

I don'ta care. 

Page One Hundred and Forty 



^aema of 399mrtfy 



All's Well That Ends Well 

T. A. Dally 

I am so glad as 1 can be, 

I seeng, I dance, Signor, 
Ah, sooch a lucky man like me 

You nevva see bay fore. 

Eeet ees so like w'en sky ees gray, 
Den — queeck — da sun bust through, 

An' drivin' all da cloud awayi — 
I tal eet all to you. 

My wife an' me we no can gat 
To mak' our minds da same, 

W'en leetla boy ees com', for w'at 
We gonna call hees name. 

My Rosa, dat's my wife, she say 

She gotta besta right 
For call da keed her owna way, 

An' so, my frand, we fight. 

She say she want her fadder's name, 

'Giovanni," but, you see, 
I want "Giacobbe," jus' da same 

Wheech ees da name for me. 

W'al, den dees theeng excite us so 

An' mak' so bigga fuss, 
Ees com' my reecha Uncle Joe 

For feexin' theengs for us. 

But w'en we find how hard eet seem 
For feex, he tal us: "Wal, 

I theenk ees best you call a heem 
'Giuseppe' for mysal." 

Dees mak' da case so bothersom', 

My brain ees eena whirl ; 
I almost weesh w'en keed ees com' 

He gonna be a girl. 

Eh? No, he was no borna w'en 

We fighta deesa way, 
No baby eest leevin' den, 

But see ! ees com' today. 

Page One Hundred and Forty-One 



•plaems of JSIorilf 



Not only wan of heem, but t'ree, 
Eh? "Treeplets?" Yes, Signor. 

Ah, soocha lucky man like me, 
You nevva see bayfore. 



Mia Carlotta 

T. A. Daly 



Giuseppe, da barber, ees greata for "mash," 

He gotta da bigga, da blacka moustache, 

Good clo'es an' good styla an' playnta good cash. 

Wen evra. Giuseppe ees walk on da street, 
Da peopla dey talka, "how nobby, how neat, 
How softa da handa, how smalla da feet." 

He lqefta hees hat an' shaka hees curls, 
An' smila weeth teetha so shiny like pearls ; 
Oh, manny da heart of da seelly, young girls, 

He gotta, 
Yes, playnta he gotta — » 

But notta 

Carlotta ! 

Giuseppe, da barber, he maka da eye, 

An* lika da steam engine puffa an' sigh, 

For catcha Carlotta w'en she ees go by, 

Carlotta she walka weeth nose in da air, 

An' look through Giuseppe weeth far away stare, 

As eef she no see there ees som'body dere. 

Giuseppe, da barber, he gotta da cash, 
He gotta da clo'es an' da bigga moustache, 
He gotta da seelly, young girls for da "mash," 

But notta — 
You bat my life, notta — 

Carlotta. 

I gotta! 



Between Two Loves 

T. A. Daly 

I gotta love for Angela, 
I love Carlotta too. 
I no can marry both o' dem, 
So w'at I gonna do? 

Page One Hundred and Forty-Two 



•JfocntB of piorilj 



Oh Angela ees pretta girl, 
She gotta hair so black, so curl, 
An' teeth so white as anytheeng. 
An' oh, she gotta voice to seeng, 
Dat mak' your hearta feel eet must 
Jump up an' dance or eet vveell bust. 
An' alia time she seeng, her eyes 
Dey smila like Italia's skies, 
An' makin' flirtin' looks at you — 
But dat ees all w'at she can do. 



Carlotta ees no gotta song, 
But she ees twice so big an' strong 
As Angela, an' she no look, 
So beautiful — but she can cook. 
You oughta see her carry wood ; 
I tal you w'at, eet do you good, 
Wen she ees be sonvbody's wife, 
She worka hard, you bat my life. 
She nevva gattin' tired, too — 
But dat ees all w'at she can do. 

Oh, my, I weesh dat Angela 
Was strong for carry wood, 
Or else Carlotta gotta song, 
An' looka pretta good. 
I gotta love for Angela, 
I love Carlotta, too. 
I no can marry both o' dem, 
So w'at I gonna do? 



The Lonely Honeymoon 

T. A. Daly 

You know dees Joe dat use' to go 
For work weeth me, Signor? 

He's marry, yestaday, you know, 
An' gon' for Baltimore; 

An' so deesgusta man like Joe 

You nevva see bay fore. 
Eh ? No, da girl's all right, my f rand ; 

Dat's mak' eet harder, too. 

Ha, wait an' you weel ondrastand — 

I tal eet all to you. 
You see, dees Joe long time ago 

Gat Rosa for hees mash, 

Page One Hundred and Forty-Three 



^poems of pinrtij 



An' evra seence he worka so 
For mak' an, save da cash, 
Baycause he want gat marry soon 
An' mebbe takin', too, 

Dees — wa't you calla — "honeymoon," 

Like 'Mericana do. 
Wan day he tak' fi'-dollar note 

An' go to steamship store 

An' buy two teecket for da boat 

Dat sail for Baltimore. 
An' den he tal me: "Shut your mout' 

An' justa looka wise. 

Dees theeng ees no for talka 'bout ; 

Eet gonna be su'prise." 
So, w'en dey marry yestaday 

He smile so proud, Signor, 

W'en he ees keess her cheek an' say: 

"We sail for Baltimore." 
Ah, den, my frand, so sadda sight 

You nevva see. Oh, my, 

Poor Rosa she ees gat so white 

An' ees baygeen to cry. 
"Ees dees," she say, "a weddm' treep? 

Sooch fooleeshness you speak! 

I no can stand eet een a sheep, 
Da sea ees mak' me seeck." 

Poor Joe, he swear an' den he keess, 
An' coax an' beg her so, 

For theenk of all dat she weell meess — 

But no, she weell no go. 
"O Rosa, mia," Joe ees cry, 

"Your heart eet ees a stone, 

For dat you mak' me say 'good-bye' 

An' tak' da treep alone." 
Oh, lonely honeymoon, an' oh, 

So sadda man, Signor, 

Dat gotta leave hees wife an' go 

Alone for Baltimore ! 
So hearta-broka man like Joe 

You nevva see bayfore. 

Page One Hundred and Forty-Four 



^jnnns of ;Otftfrtlt 



The Harbinger 

T. A. Daly 

"Ees com' da spreeng," da people say, 
"An' weenter-time ees gon' away." 
I hope ees true, baycause, you know, 
I am so seeck weeth ice an' snow ; 
I am so seeck eenside my soul 
For gotta buy so moocha coal, 
An' overcoat, an' wanna clo'es, 
An' hankacheef for blow my nose. 

"Ees com' da spreeng," da peopla say, 

An' so I am com' out today 

For justa see eef eet ees true, 

An' play da nmsica for you. 

Da weend ees colda 'nough for mak' 

Me wanta stop an' gona back. 

But som'theeng w'eesper een my ear : 

"Ees com' da spreeng, da spreeng ees here." 

"Ees com' da spreeng," da peopla say, 
Dat passa by an' hear me play 
"Lucia" on my street-pian', 
"O, see da Dago music-man !" 
Dey say : "Dat's mean da weenter's past, 
An' spreeng ees gattin' here at last." 
I nevva hear sooch funny theeng, 
Dey taka me for sign of spreeng. 



Alia for Rosa 

T. A. Daly 

Chreesmus time ees vera funny, I no feel dees way bay- 
fore, 

I gone out an' spenda money, till I no got any more. 

1 jus' 1 (lowed dollar an' half on Rosa — dollar'n half for 
buya reeng, 

All for her, I no supposa she gon' geev me anytheeng. 

Chreesmus mak' your heart so tender, like snow-ball w'en 

eet melts, 
You no care how mooch you spenda, jus' for pleasin' som' 

one else, 

Page One Hundred and Forty-Five 



Poems of pUorilj 



Dat's a way dees Chreesmus fever catcha me, I got eet 

bad, 
I no care how moocha I geev her, jus' so long eet make 

her glad. 

I no want her geeve me notheeng; I goin' dees praisaint 
free — 

Jus' because Rosa tal me, she gonna marry wettle me. 

Chreesmus time ees vera funny, I no feel dees way bay- 
fore; 

Mak' me gon' an' spenda money, tell I no got any more. 



Wishes 

T. A. Daly 



Som'times, w'en beezeness ees bad 

An' I am sad, 
I weesh I was not born at all, 
Or dat I could be w'at you call 
A "domb theeng," like a stona wall ; 

Dat cannot speak or see or hear, 

Or hope or fear. 

I s'pose, my frand, you nevva gat 

So bad as dat ; 
I s'pose, baycause you do so wal, 
You always weesh to be yoursal', 
You nevva say, like me, "O, hal, 

I am no good, I weesh I might 

Drop outa sight." 

Mos' times I weesh dat I could be 

Som' kind of tree ; 
For I could be alive an' steel 
Not have to work for evvra meal, 
An' weenter cold I would not feel — 

An' I could mak' more pleasure, too, 

Dan now I do. 

All summer, cool would be da shade 

Ma branches made 
With greena leaves dat I would wear, 
An' birds would com' an' seenga dere. 
Den een da fall, w'en I was bare, 

I would not have to do a theeng 

But sleep teell spreeng. 

Page One Hundred and Forty-Six 



^pocma of JHiirth 



The New Patriot 

T. A. Daly 

It ocs no hard for Dago man to be a good American 

Too dumb, too slow, you theenka me, 

But 1 am smart enough to see, 

The firsta theeng that you must know, 

Ees how to speak the English so 

That you can wave your hat and say — 

The red, the white, the blue, Hooray. 

To maka good American 

You must try for skeen some other man. 

Because you know that he will do 

The sama kinda trick to you. 

But you arc just* as good as heem, 

And lice's just as good as you and me. 

So long we all stand up and say 

The red, the white, the blue, Hooray. 

For land that I've been leevin' in 

That flag the red, the white, the green ; 

So alia that I gotta do 

Ees just forget that green for blue. 

I skeen you if I get the chance, 

But that don't mak' no deeferance, 

I good American and say, 

The red, the white, the blue, Hooray. 



Tillie Olson 

(Selected) 

Little Tillie Olson ban my little pearl, 
God ain't never makin' any nicer girl. 
Des here Queen of Sheba, she ban nice to see, 
But little Tillie Olson ban gude enuf for me. 

Aye ban yust a swamper working up in the woods 
Aye ain't never hairn much ob dis world's goods, 
Aye knew lots of ladies var Aye used to be, 
Men, little Tillie Olson ban gude enuf for me. 

Ven ve sit by fire-place-op at Tillie's house, 
She ban cuddlin' near me, just lak little mouse, 
After we ban married happy ve schall be, 
Yes, little Tillie Olson ban gude enuf fer me. 

Page One Hundred and Forty-Seven 



•poems of JB^orih 



An "If" for Girls 

Elizabeth Lincoln Otis 

If you can dress to make yourself attractive, 
Yet not make purr's and curls your chief delight, 
If you can swim and row, be strong and active, 
But of the gentler graces lose not sight; 
If you can dance without a craze for dancing, 
Play without giving play too strong a hold, 
Enjoy the love of friends without romancing, 
Care for the weak, the friendless and the old. 

If you can master French and Greek and Latin, 

And not acquire, as well, a priggish mien ; 

If you can feel the touch of silk and satin, 

Without despising calico and jean. 

If you can play a saw and use a hammer, 

Can do a man's work when the need occurs, 

Can sing, when asked, without excuse or stammer, 

Can rise above unfriendly snubs and slurs. 

If you can make good bread as well as fudges, 
Can sew with skill, and have an eye for dust ; 
If you can be a friend and hold no grudges, 
A girl whom all will love because they must. 

If sometime you should meet and love another, 
And make a home with faith and peace enshrined, 
And you its soul, — a loyal wife and mother, — 
You'll work out pretty nearly to my mind 
The plan that's been developed through the ages, 
And win the best that life can have in store, 
You'll be, my girl, a model for the sages, 
A woman whom the world will bow before. 



Billy He's in Trouble 

(Selected) 

I've got a letter, parson,' from my son away out west, 
An' my old heart is heavy as an anvil in my breast, 
To think the boy, whose future I had once so proudly 

planned, 
Should wander from the path o' right an' come to sich 

an end. 
I told him when he left us only three short years ago, 
He'd find himself a plowin' in a mighty crooked row, 
He'd miss his father's counsel and his mother's prayers 

too, 

Page One Hundred and Forty-Eight 



{{JointtB of JHHortl] 



But he said the farm was hateful and he guessed he'd 

have to go. 
I know there's big temptation for a youngster in the west, 
But I believed our Billy had the courage to resist, 
An* when he left, I warned him o' the ever waitin' snares, 
That lie like hidden sarpints in life's pathway every- 

\\ here's ; 
But Bill he promised faithful to be keerful an' allowed, 
He'd build a reputation that would make us mighty 

proud ; 
But it scnns as how my counsel sort of faded from his 

mind, 
An' now the boy's in trouble of the very worstest kind. 

His letters came so seldom that I somehow sort o' 

knowed. 
That Billy was a trampin' on a mighty rocky road, 
But never once imagined he would bow my head in 

shame, 
An' in dust 'd woller his old daddy's honored name. 
He writes from out in Denver an' the story's mighty 

short, 
I just can't tell his mother it'd crush her poor old heart, 
An' so I reckoned, parson, you might break the news to 

her. 
Bill's in the Legislatur' but he didn't say what fur. 



The Turkey's Dream 

Anonymous 

Last night I had a fearful dream, I tremble even yet — 
I saw a table long and wide with many dishes set; 
And at one end I seemed to be helpless and fat and hot, 
And could not move a foot or wing to hasten from the 
spot. 

My stomach was uncomfortable, I could not draw my 

breath, 
Nor make a sound howe'er I tried ; I really felt like 

death. 
I couldn't seem to find my head, my heart was out of 

place, 
And somehow I had sadly lost my dignity and grace. 

Then such a racketing arose and scurrying through the 

hall, 
And then a lot of people came, master, wife and all. 

» 

Page One Hundred and Forty-Nine 



^fosms of piorilj 



The children who had been so kind and given me loads 

to eat, 
They danced around my prostrate fcrm, my downfall 

was complete. 

Deceitful creatures that they are, for in my dream they 

said, 
"Ha ! ha ! old Turkey, where's your pride, now you have 

lost your head?" 
I quivered with my burning wrongs— but no one seemed 

to care, 
For all sat down around the board, and bowed their heads 

in prayer. 

And then the master, that good man, took up a dreadful 

knife, 
And held it slant-wise over me, I trembled for my life. 
But. when a great fork pierced my breast I gave a jump 

and scream, 
And nearly tumbled off my perch in waking from my 

dream. 



Her Folks and Hiz'n 

Ben King 

He married her 'cause she had money an' some 
Property left from her husband's income, 
But both of the families were awfully stirred, 
And said the worst things 'at the town ever heard, 

And her folks and hiz'n, 

Er hizn and her'n 

Never spoke to each other, 

From what I can learn. 

His folks begun it and just said 'at she 
Was the worst actin' thing they ever did see, 
And ought to be ashamed for bein' so bold, 
'Cause her husband he hadn't had time to get cold. 

And her folks and hiz'n, 

Er hizn and her'n 

Never spoke to each other, 

From what I can learn. 

Her folks they all set up 'at he was no good, 
An' if 'twarn't for her — well, he'd have to saw wood, 
Then all of her kin, every blasted relation, 
Said she'd lowered herself in their estimation, 

— , „ — — — . 

Page One Hundred and Fifty 



^jjJocms of $3 1 1 r * If 



So her folks and hiz'n, 
And hizn and her'n 
Never spoke to each other, 
From what 1 can learn. 

The sisters they told this, 'tween you and I, 
'At they thought she wanted her husband to die. 
An' they whispered around, but don't you lisp a word 
The awful est things that a soul ever heard. 

And her folks and hiz'n, 

Er hizn and her'n 

Never spoke to each other, 

From what I can learn. 

They said 'at a travelin' man er a drummer, 
Who stopped at the hotel a long time last summer, 
That he, no it wasn't that, now, let me see — 
That she — er, something like that, seems to me. 

Well, her folks and hiz'n, 

And hizn and her'n 

Never spoke to each other, 

From what I can learn. 

I hear 'at the families keep up the old fight, 

A roastin' each other from mornin' till night; 

But the young maird couple, they've moved to the 

city, 
Where gossip don't go, but I think it's a pity that 

Her folks and hiz'n, 

Er hizn and her'n 

Never spoke to each other, 

From what- 1 can learn. 



If I Can Be by Her 

Ben King 

I d-d-don't c-c-care how the r-r-robin sings, 
Er how the r-r-rooster f-f-flaps his wings, 

Er whether it sh-sh-shines er whether it p-p-pores, 
Er how high up the eagle s-s-soars, 
If I can b-b-be by her. 

I don't care if th' p-people s-s-say, 
'At I'm weak-minded every w-w-way, 

An' never had no cuh-common sense, 
I'd c-c-climb the highest p-picket fence, 
If I could b-b-be by her. 



Page One Hundred and Fiftv-One 



^foems of Purify 



You s-s-see sh-she weighs an awful pile, 
B-but I d-don't care, sh-she's just my style, 

An' any f-fool c-c-could p-plainly see, 
She'd look well well b-b-by the side o' me, 
If I c-c-could b-be by her. 

If I could be by h-h-her, I'll s-s-swim, 
The r-r-rest of life through th-th-thick and thin ; 
I'll throw my overcoat away, 
• An' s-s-stand out on the c-c-coldest day, 
If I can b-b-be by her. 

I b-b-braced right up, an' had the s-s-sand 
To ask her f-f-father f-fer her hand; 

He said, "What p-p-prospects have ye got?" 
I said, "I g-g-guessed I'd have a lot, 
Iff can b-b-be by her." 



The Pessimist 

Ben King 

Nothing to do but work, 
Nothing to eat but food, 
Nothing to wear but clothes, 
To keep one from going nude. 

Nothing to breathe but air, 
Quick as a flash 'tis gone, 
Nowhere to fall but off, 
Nowhere to stand but on. 

Nothing to comb but hair, 
Nowhere to sleep but in bed, 
Nothing to weep but tears, 
Nothing to bury but dead. 

Nothing to sing but songs, 
Ah, well, alas, alack, 
Nowhere to go but out, 
Nowhere to come but back. 

Nothing to see but sights, 
Nothing to quench but thirst, 
Nothing to have but what we've got, 
Thus through life we're cursed. 

Page One Hundred and Fifty-Two 



•jjJocms of JUortl] 



Nothing to strike but a gait; 
Everything moves that goes, 
Nothing at all but common sense, 
Can ever withstand these woes. 



If I Should Die To-night 

Ben King 

If I should die tonight, 

And you should come to my cold corpse and say 

Weeping and heartsick o'er my lifeless clay, 

It 1 should die tonight, 

And you should come in deepest grief and woe 

Ami say, "Here's that ten dollars that I owe," 

I might arise in my large, white cravat, 

And say, "What's that?" 

If I should die tonight, 

And you should come to my cold corpse and kneel, 

Clasping my bier to show the grief you feel. 

I say, if I should die tonight, 

And you should come to me, and there and then, 

Just even hint 'bout payin' me that ten, 

I might arise the while, 

But I'd drop dead again. 



Sittin' by the Fire 

(Selected) 

Never much on stirrin' round, 

Sich warn't his desire, 
Always sartin to be found, 
Sittin' by the fire. 

When the snow came tumblin' down, 
Cold winds creepin' nigher, 

Spent each day, just that-a-way, 
Sittin' by the fire. 

When the dancin' shook the ground, 
Raised the old roof higher, 

Never swung the gals around, 
Sot there by the fire. 

Page One Hundred and Fifty-Three 



^loems of piorirf 



Same old corner, night and day, 

Never 'peared to tire, 
Not a blessed word to say, 

Sot there by the fire. 

When he died by slow degrees 
Folks said he's gone higher, 

But it's my opinion that 
He's sittin' by the fire. 



Me an' Pap an' Mother 

Strickland W. Gillilan 

When I was a little tike 

I set at th' table, 
'Tween my mother an' my pap; 

Eat all I was able. 
Pap he fed me on one side, 

Mammy on th' other. 
Tell ye we was chums them days — 

Me an' pap an' mother. 

Sundays we'd take great, long walks 

Through th' woods an' pasters ; 
Pap he al'ays packed a cane, 

Mother'n me picked asters, 
Sometimes they's a sister 'long, 

Sometimes they's a brother; 
But they al'ays was us three — 

Me an' pap an' mother. 

Pap he didn't gabble much, 

Hel' his head down, thinkin', 
Didn't seem t' hear us talk, 

Nor the cow-bells clinkin'. 
Love-streaks all 'peared worried out, 

'Bout one thing er nuther ; 
Didn't al'ays understand pap — 

That's me an' mother. 

I got big an' went away; 

Left th' farm behind me. 
Thinkin' o' that partin' yit, 

Seems to choke an' blind me. 
'Course I'd be all safe an' good 

With m' married brother, 
But we had to part, us three — 

Me an' pap an' mother. 

Page One Hundred and Fifty-Four 



•jjJorms of J^tfrtl? 



Hurried bade, one day, found pap 

Changed, an* pale an' holler; 
Seen right off he'd have to go — 

Where we couldn't foller. 
Loviif streaks all showed up then — 

Ah. we loved each other, 
Talked fast, jest t' keep back tears — 

Me an' pap an' mother. 

Pap he's dead, but mother ain't; 

Soon will be I reckon; 
Claims already she can see 

Pap's forefinger beckon. 
Life hain't long, I'll go myself 

One these days eruther, 
Then we'll have good times agin', 

Me an' pap an' mother. 

Purtier hills we'll have t' climb, 

Saunter 'long old fashion, 
Hear th' wild birds singin' 'round, 

See th' river splashin' — 
If God'd only let us three 

Be 'lone, like we'd ruther, 
Heaven'd be a great ol' place, 

For me an' pap an' mother. 



Finnigin to Flannigan 

Strickland W. Gillilan 

Superintendent wuz Flannigan ; 

Boss av th' siction wuz Finnigin. 

Whiniver th' cyars got off th' thrack 

An' muddled up things t' th' divvle an' back, 

Finnigin writ it t' Flannigan, 

That is, this Finnigin 

Reported t' Flannigan. 

Whin Finnigin furrst writ t' Flannigan, 
He writed tin pages, did Finnigin; 
An' he towld just how th' wrick occurred. 
Yis. minny a tajus, blunderin' wurrd, 
Did Finnigan write t' Flannigan. 
Afther th' cyars had gone on agin' — 
That's th' way Finnigin 
Reported t' Flannigan. 

Page One Hundred and Fifty-Five 



;{Jasm5 of piorilf 



Now Flannigan knowed more than Finnigan — 

He'd more idjication, had Flannigan, 

An' ut wore 'm clane an' completely out, 

T' tell what Finnigin writ about 

In 's writin' t' Musther Flannigan. 

So he writed this back. "Musther Finnigin : — 

Don't do sich a sin agin; 

Make 'em brief, Finnigin." 

Whin Finnigin got that frum Flannigan 
He blushed rosy-red, did Finnigin. 
An' he said, "I'll gamble a whole month's pay, 
That ut'll be minny an' minny a day 
Before sup'rintindint — that's Flannigan — 
Gits a whack at that very same sin agin, 
Frum Finnigin to Flannigan 
Reports won't be long agin." 

Wan day on th' siction av Finnigin, 

On th' road sup'rintinded be Flannigan, 

A ra-al give way on a bit av a curve, 

An' some cyars wint off as they made th' shwarrve, 

"They's nobody hurrted," says Finnigin, 

"But repoorts must be made t' Flannigan." 

As he winked at McGorrigan, 

As married a Finnigin. 

He wuz shantyin' thin' wuz Finnigin, 

As minny a railroader's been agin, 

An' 'is shmoky ol' lamp wuz burnin' bright 

In Finnigin's shanty all that night — 

Bilin' down 's report, wuz Finnigin, 

An' he writed this here : "Musther Flannigan : — 

Off agin, on agin, 

Gone agin — Finnigin." 



The Family Group 

Strickland W. Gillilan 

I hain't a spark o' city pride — at least so people say; 
I don't care who finds out my hair is full o' germs o' hay. 
I don't care who discovers that I growed upon a farm 
An' hain't got ust t' street-cars ner that skeery fire-alarm. 
But one sad memory makes me gasp like when I had th' 

croup, 
An' that's t' think how we all looked in that ol' family 

group. 

Page One Hundred and Fifty-Six 



^ocrns of 3$tartlj 



irt in with, they's none of us would had it took that 

day, 
Jisl happened we was all in town, 'cause Bill was goin' 

away — 
With his best bib an' tucker on ; an' so he says t' me, 
"Let's go an* t, r it a fam'ly group, like Williamses," says he. 
( )' course we all felt proud o' Bill, an' fell in with a 

whoop, 
An' (locked right up them gallery stairs t' git that family 

group- 

Th' photo-grapher kind o' laughed when we went flockin' 

in — 
I've spent some years, in later life, a figgerin' on that 

grin. 
An' Mill he bossed the job because he was a-goin' away — 
Talked up an' showed that pictur man he wasn't any jay, 
Th' feller went an hid awhile in some ol' smelly coop, 
An' got 'is shooter ready fer t' take our family group. 

He put pa in th' middle with ma settin' by his side, 

He dragged Mahaly out from where she'd snuck away t' 

hide, 
He yanked our chins an' fixed our hands, an' pulled our 

faces 'round, 
An' handled us all over like he's buyin' us by th' pound, 
Then went an' hid behind a rag an' give a little stoop, 
An' says, "That's all — next Saturday." He'd took our 

fam'ly group. 

I see it yit, Bill fixed up, lookin' like a bloomin' rose 
Amongst a bunch o' rag-weeds, pa's a-wrinklin' up 'is 

nose ; 
Mahaly's finger's in 'er mouth, Moll's got a sheepish 

grin ; 
Tom's mad, an' I've got on some boots with awful 

wrinkles in, 
Ma's worried 'cause that head-clamp tilted up her bonnet 

scoop — 
I'm sorry Bill suggested that we git a family group. 

Ma laughs about it. hut she keeps it hangin' on th' wall. 
Mahaly's dead — her baby's there, a-growin' big an' tall. 
All of us is scattered out — some of us gittin' gray; 
An' pa sets dreamin' on th' porch, through every sunny 

day. 
T guess God's gittin' ready fer t' make a gentle swoop 
An' take us up t' where they'll be a better fam'ly group. 

Page One Hundred and Fifty-Seven 



^jloemg of piorilj 



The Hired Man Says: 

John D. Wells 

A dad-burned hen that wants t' set — 

Now there's the blamedest fool thing yet ! 

She'll set on nails or chiny eggs 

Or vegetables, or wrap her legs 

Around door-knobs or anything 

A man puts under her, I jing! 

An' there she'll set from morn 'til night 

Without a-lookin' left or right, 

An' do the work — in spite o' you — 

The Lord cut out for her t' do. 

Jist minds her business- — eyes t' front — 
Like me an' you an' others won't. 
She ain't no hand for circus shows, 
Nor sheriff sales, where mortal goes 
An' shirk their work ! She stays behind 
With only one idee in mind ; 
T' save her brood from hawks, or pup, 
An' fin'lly raise her fambly up, 
An' raise 'em like they'd orter be— 
A fine example, 'pears t' me. 



Mrs. Malone and the Censor 

Edgar A. Guest 

When Mrs. Malone got a letter from Pat, 

She started to read it aloud in her flat. 

"Dear Mary," it started, "I can't tell you much, 

I'm somewhere in France and I'm fightin' the Dutch; 

I'm chokin' wid news that I'd like to relate, 

But it's little a soldier's permitted t' state. 

Do ye mind Red McPhee — well, he fell in a ditch, 

An' busted an arrm, but I can't tell ye which. 

"An' Paddy O'Hara was caught in a flame 

An' rescued by — Faith, I can't tell ye his name, 

Last night I woke up wid a terrible pain ; 

I thought for awhile it would drive me insane. 

Oh, the sufferin', I had was most dreadful t' bear, 

I'm sorry, my dear, but I can't tell ye where, 

The doctor he gave me a pill, but I find 

It's conthrary to rules t' disclose here the kind. 

Page One Hundred and Fifty-Eight 



■|U urate of JHortI| 



I've been to the dintist an' had a tooth out, 

I'm sorry t' leave you so shrouded in doubt, 

But the best I can say is that one tooth is gone, 

The censor won't let me inform you which one. 

I met a young fellow who knows ye right well, 

An' ye know him, too, but his name I can't tell, 

lie's Irish, red-headed, an' there with th' blarney, 

His folks once knew your folks back home in Killarney." 

"By gorry," said Mrs. Malone in her flat 

"It's hard t' make sinse out av writin' like that, 

But I'll give him as good as he sends, that I will." 

So she went right to work with her ink well an' quill, 

An' she wrote, "I suppose ye're dead eager fer news — . 

You know when ye left we were buyin' the shoes; 

Well, the baby has come, an' we're both doin' well; 

It's a Oh, but that's somethin they won't let me tell." 



The Jersey Cow 

Selected 

I met her in the meadow, 
As the sun was sinking low, 
We walked together quietly, 
In the twilight after-glow. 

She waited, while silently, 
I lowered all the bars, 
Her eyes were bent upon me, 
As radiant as the stars. 

She neither smiled nor thanked me, 
Because she knew not how, 
For I was only a country lad, 
And she a Jersey cow. 






i [undred and Fifty-Nine 



Poems for Oral Expression 
Department 



in 



Elementary Schools 



The Wind 

Robert Louis Stevenson 

I saw you toss the kites on high, 
And blow the birds about the sky, 
And all around I heard you pass, 
Like ladies' skirts around the grass, 
O wind, a-blowing all day long, 

wind, that sings so loud a song. 

1 saw the different things you did, 
But always you yourself were hid, 
I felt you push, I heard you call, 

I could not see yourself at all. 
O wind, a-blowing all day long, 
O wind, that sings so loud a song. 

O you, that are strong and cold, 
O blower, are you young or old? 
Are you a beast of field and tree, 
Or just a stronger child than me? 
O wind, a-blowing all day long, 
O wind, that sings so loud a song. 



Page One Hundred and Sixty 



•jLWms uf IHiu-th 



Foreign Children 
Robert Louis Stevenson 

Little Indian. Sionx or Crow, 

Little frosty Eskimo, 

Little Turk or Japanee, 

( > ! don't yon wish that you were me? 

N on have seen the scarlet trees, 

And the lions over-seas; 

You haw eaten ostrich eggs, 

And turned the turtles off their legs. 

Such a life is very fine, 
But it's not so nice as mine: 
You must often, as you trod, 
Have wearied, not to be abroad. 

You have curious things to eat, 
I am fed on proper meat ; 
You must dwell beyond the foam, 
But I am safe and live at home. 

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, 

Little frosty Eskimo, 

Little Turk or Japanee, 

Oh, don't you wish that you were me? 



The Cow 

Robert Louis Stevenson 

The friendly cow all red and white, 

I love with all my heart. 
She gives me cream with all her might, 

To eat with apple-tart. 

She wanders lowing here and there, 

And yet she cannot stray. 

All in the pleasant open air, 

The pleasant light of day. 

And blown by all the winds that pass. 

And wet with all the showers, 
She walks among the meadow grass, 

And eats the meadow flowers. 

Page One Hundred and Sixty-One 



forty 
My Shadow 

Robert Louis Stevenson 

I have a little shadow, that goes in and out with me, 
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. 
He is very, very like me, from the heels up to the head, 
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my 
my bed. 

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow, 
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow ; 
For he sometimes shoots up taller, like an India rubber 

ball, 
And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him 

at all. 

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, 
And can only make a fool of me, in every sort of way, 
He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see, 
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks 
to me. 

One morning very early, before the sun was up, 
I rose and found the shining dew on every butter-cup, 
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, 
Had staid at home behind me, and was fast asleep in bed. 



The Weaving of the Flag 

Lytton Cox 

Oh a little boy one evening, 

Sat watching the shadows fall — 

When he fell asleep and he dreamed a dream, 

Just the lovliest dream of all, 

For he thought that the fairies were weaving- 

A flag for his very own, 

A gift he could love and cherish, 

To be just his alone. 

Then one brought a beam of the sunset, 

As deep as the heart of a rose, 

While another, one brought a band of white 

From the top of the first new snows, 

Then they sewed them together with silver 

They had woven from moonbeams bright, 

The first a band of the sunset red, 

And then a band of white. 

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{jjJncms of 3Hlartli 



And as they stood there watching, 
These white and crimson hars — 

( hie «>t them flew right into the sky, 

And cut a patch out of the stars. 

Then they put it up there in one corner, 

And when they had fastened it there, 

They knew not a thing in this whole wide world, 

Could make this flag more fair. 

They told him the red was for courage, 

And the white, for a heart that is pure, 

While the stars stand there for a steadfast hope, 

And a faith that must endure. 

Soon the little boy woke from his dreaming, 

To look at the red, white and blue, 

And he said, "My flag is the loveliest flag," 

And I think so too, don't vou? 



"One, Two, Three!" 

H. C. BUNNER 

It was an old, old old, old lady, 

And a boy that was half -past three ; 

And the way that they played together 
Was beautiful to see. 

She couldn't go running and jumping, 
And the boy, no more could he ; 

For he was a thin, little fellow, 
With a thin, little, twisted knee. 

They sat in the yellow sunlight, 

Out under the maple tree; 
And the game that they played I'll tell you, 

Just as it was told to me. 

It was hide-and-go-seek they were playing, 
Though you'd never have known it to be, 

With an old, old, old, old lady, 
And a hoy with a twisted knee. 

The boy would bend his face down, 
On his one little, sound, right knee, 

And he'd guess where she was hiding, 
In guesses one, two, three! 

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IJoems of JUtartlj 



"You are in the china closet !" 

He would cry and laugh with glee, 

It wasn't the china closet; 

But he still had his two and three. 

"You are up in Papa's big bedroom, 

' In the chest with the queer, old key !" 
And she said : "You are warm and warmer ; 
But you're not quite right," said she. 

"It can't be the little cupboard, 

Where Mamma's things used to be, 

So it must be the clothes-press, Gran'ma !" 
And he found her with his three. 

Then she covered her face with her fingers, 
That were wrinkled and white and wee, 

And she guessed where he was hiding, 
With a one and a two and a three. 

And they never stirred from their places. 

Right under the maple tree, 
This old, old, old, old lady, 

And the boy with the lame, little knee, 
This dear, dear, dear, old lady, 

And the boy who was half-past three. 



Suppose 

Phoebe Cary 



Suppose, my little lady, 

Your doll should break her head, 
Could you make it whole by crying, 

Till your eyes and nose were red? 
And wouldn't it be pleasanter, 

To treat it as a joke, 
And say, "you're glad 'twas dolly's 

And not your head, that broke?" 

Suppose you're dressed for walking, 

And the rain comes pouring down ; 
Will it clear off any sooner, 

Because you scold and frown? 
And wouldn't it be nicer 

For you to smile than pout, 
And so make sunshine in the house 

When there's none without ? 

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^oema of ^orth 



Suppose your task, my little man, 

Is very hard to get, 
Will it make it any easier, 

For you to sit and fret? 
And wouldn't it be wiser, 

Than waiting like a dunce, 
To go to work in earnest, 

And learn the things at once? 

Suppose that some boys have a horse, 

And some a coach and pair, 
Will it tire you less while walking, 

To say, "It isn't fair?" 
And wouldn't it be nobler 

To keep your temper sweet, 
And in your heart be thankful, 

You can walk upon your feet ? 

Suppose the world don't please you, 

Nor the way some people do, 
Do you think the whole creation, 

Will be altered just for you? 
And isn't it my boy or girl, 

The wisest, bravest plan, 
Whatever comes, or doesn't come, 

To do the best you can? 



The Sandman 

Margaret Vandegrift 

The rosy clouds float overhead, 

The sun is going down ; 

And now the sandman's gentle tread, 

Comes stealing through the town. 

"White sand, white sand," he softly cries, 

And as he shakes his hand, 

Straightway there lies on baby's eyes, 

His gift of shining sand. 

Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown. 

As shuts the rose, they softly close, 

When he goes through the town. 

From sunny beaches far away, 

Yes, in another land. 

He gathers up at break of day. 

Hi- store of shining sand. 

No tempests beat that shore remote, 

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IJoems of ptortlj 



No ships may sail that way; 

His little boat alone may float, 

Within that lovely bay. 

Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, 

As shuts the rose, they softly close, 

When he goes through the town. 

He smiles to see the eyelids close 

Above the happy eyes ; 

And every child right well he knows, 

Oh, he is very wise ! 

But if, as he goes through the land, 

A naughty baby cries, 

His other hand takes dull gray sand 

To close the wakeful eyes. 

Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, 

As shuts the rose, they softly close, 

When he goes through the town. 

So when you hear the sandman's song, 

Sound through the twilight sweet, 

Be sure you do not keep him long, 

A-waiting on the street. 

Lie softly down, dear little head, 

Rest quiet, busy hands, 

Till, by your bed his good-night said, 

He strews the shining sands, 

Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, 

As shuts the rose, they softly close, 

When he goes through the town. 



Shopping for Sleep 

(Selected) 

Weary were my hands and very tired my feet, 

As I once went a-shopping in Sleepy Town street, 

But ev'ry shop I saw, no matter where I'd peep, 

I couldn't buy a remnant of good, sound sleep. 

So I bought a nod and a sleepy little yawn, 

Then I stretched them and I stretched them till very 

nearly dawn ; 
Bought a yard of poppies, one very tiny snore, 
And a bright, little moon-beam I found on the floor. 
Then I took this bundle and placed it on my bed, 
And putting on my night-cap I laid down my head, 
And while a little cricket was singing Bo-peep, 
I sewed them all together and made a Sound-a-sleep. 

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Poems nf Iflnrth 



Hurrah for the Flag! 
(Selected) 

There are many flags in many lands, 
There are flags of every hue, 

Bui there is no flag, however grand, 
Like our own "Red, White, and Blue." 

I know where the prettiest colors are, 

And I'm sure if I only knew, 
How to get them here I could make a flag 

( )f glorious "Red. White, and Blue." 

1 would cut a piece from an evening sky, 
Where the stars were shining through, 

And use it just as it was on high, 
For my stars and field of blue. 

Then I'd want a part of a fleecy cloud, 
And some red from a rainbow bright; 

And put them together side by side, 
For my stripes of red and white. 

We shall always love the "Stars and Stripes," 

And we mean to be ever true, 
To this land of ours and the dear old flag, 

The Red, the White, and the Blue. 

Then hurrah for the flag ! our country's flag, 

Its stripes and white stars too ; 
There is no flag in any land, 

Like our own "Red. White, and Blue!" 



The Spider and the Fly 
Mary Howitt 

"Will vou walk into my parlor?'' said the Spider to the 

Fly ; 
Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. 
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair. 
And I have many pretty things to show when you are 

there." 
"( ) no. no." said the little fly, "to ask me is in vain, 
For who ^iics up your winding stair can ne'er come down 

again." 

■ I !un<!ri'fl and Sixty-Seven 



Poems of piorir} 



"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so 

high; 
Will you rest upon my little bed ?" said the Spider to the 

Fly. 
"There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are 

fine and thin, 
And if you'd like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in." 
"O no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said, N 
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon vour 

bed." 

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what 

shall I do, 
To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you? 
I have within my pantry good store of all that's nice ; 
I'm sure you're very welcome; will you please to take a 

slice?" 
"O no, no," said the little fly, "kind sir, that cannot be; 
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to 

see." 

"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and 

you're wise, 
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are 



your eyes 



I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf, 

If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold your- 
self." 

"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're 
pleased to say, 

And bidding you good-morning now, I'll call aft other 
day." 

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his 

den, 
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon be back again : 
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly, 
And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly. 
Then came out to his door again, and merrily did sing, 
"Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver 

wing: 
Your robes are green and purple ; there's a crest upon 

your head ; 
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull 

as lead." 

Alas, alas ! how very soon this silly little Fly, 

Hearing his wily flattering words, came slowly flitting by. 

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■fWms of JHorilj 



With buzzing wrings she hung aloft, then near and nearer 

drew . 
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple 

hue ; 
Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing! 

At last. 
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast, 

He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den, 
Within his little parlor; hut she ne'er came out again! 
And now, dear little children, who may this story read, 
To idle, silly, flattering words, 1 pray you ne'er give 

heed; 
l'nti> an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye, 
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the 

Fly. 



The Children's Hour 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

Between the dark and the daylight, 
When the night is beginning to lower, 

Comes a pause in the day's occupations 
That is known as the Children's Hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet, 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamplight, 
Descending the broad hall stair, 

Grave Alice, and laughing, Allegra. 
And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper, and then a silence; 

Yet 1 know by their merry eyes, 
They are plotting and planning together 

To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stairway, 
A sudden raid from the hall! 

By three doors left unguarded 
They enter my castle wall! 

Pa^c One Hundred and Sixty-Nine 



^poema of piortfy 



They climb up into my turret, 

O'er the arms and back of my chair ; 

If I try to escape, they surround me; 
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 
Their arms about me entwine, 

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine. 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, 
Because you have scaled the wall, 

Such an old mustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all ? 

I have you fast in my fortress, 
And will not let you depart, 

But put you down into the dungeon 
In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 

And moulder in dust away. 



Hiawatha's Childhood 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea-Water, 
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, 
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis, 
Dark behind it rose the forest, 
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, 
Rose the firs with cones upon them ; 
Bright before it beat the water, 
Beat the clear and sunny water, 
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water. 

There the wrinkled old Nokomis 
Nursed the little Hiawatha, 
Rocked him in his linden cradle, 
Bedded soft in moss and rushes, 
Safely bound with reindeer sinews ; 
Stilled his fretful wail by saying, 
"Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!" 

Page One Hundred and Seventy 



•JfJoems of piortl] 



Lulled him into slumber, singing, 
"Ewa-yea! my little owlet! 
Who is this, that lights the wigwam? 
With his great eyes lights the wigwam? 
Ewa-yea ! my little owlet '" 

.Many things Nokomis taught him 
Of the stars that shine in heaven; 
Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, 
Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses; 
Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, 
Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs, 
Flaring far away to northward 
In the frosty nights of winter; 
Showed the broad, white road in heaven, 
Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, 
Running straight across the heavens, 
Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. 

At the door on summer evenings, 
Sat the little Hiawatha ; 
Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, 
Heard the lapping of the water, 
Sounds of music, words of wonder; 
"Minne-wawa !" said the pine-trees, 
"Mudway-aushka !" said the water. 

Saw the fire-fly Wah-wah-taysee, 
Flitting through the dusk of evening, 
With the twinkle of its candle 
Lighting up the brakes and bushes, 
And he sang the song of children, 
Sang the song Nokomis taught him : 
"Wah-wah-taysee, little firefly, 
Little, flitting, white-fire insect, 
Little, dancing, white-fire creature, 
Light mc with your little candle, 
Ere upon my bed I lay me, 
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids !" 

Saw the moon rise from the water, 
Rippling, rounding from the water, 
Saw the flecks and shadows on it, 
Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" 
And the good Nokomis answered: 
"Once a warrior, very angry, 

Page One Hundred and Seventy-One 



Poems of JlSortij 



Seized his grandmother, and threw her 
Up into the sky at midnight ; 
Right against the moon he threw her; 
'Tis her body that you see there." 

Saw the rainbow in the heaven, 
In the eastern sky the rainbow, 
Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" 
And the good Nokomis answered: 
" 'Tis the heaven of flowers you see there 
All the wild-flowers of the forest, 
All the lilies of the prairie, 
When on earth they fade and perish, 
Blossom in that heaven above us." 

When he heard the owls at midnight, 
Hooting, laughing in the forest, 
"What is that?" he cried in terror; 
"What is that," he said, "Nokomis !" 
And the good Nokomis answered : 
"That is but the owl and owlet, 
Talking in their native language, 
Talking, scolding at each other." 

Then the little Hiawatha 
Learned of every bird its language, 
Learned their names and all their secrets, 
How they built their nests in summer, 
Where they hid themselves in winter, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens." 

Of all beasts he learned the language, 
Learned their names and all their secrets, 
How the beavers built their lodges, 
Where the squirrels hid their acorns, 
How the reindeer ran so swiftly, 
Why the rabbit was so timid, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers." 



The Owl and the Pussy Cat 

Edward Lear 
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea, 

In a beautiful pea-green boat. 
They took some honey, and plenty of money, 

Wrapped up in a five-pound note. 

Page One Hundred and Seventy-Two 



•jJoentB of JOJortlj 



The Owl looked up to the moon above, 

And sang to a small guitar, 
"O lovely Pussy ! O Pussy, my love ! 

What a beautiful Pussy you are, — 
You are ; 

What a beautiful Pussy you are!" 

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl, 

How charmingly sweet you sing! 
Oh, let us be married, — to long we have tarried,- 

But what shajl we do for a ring?" 
They sailed away for .a year and a day, 

To the land where the bong-tree grows; 
And there, in a wood, a Piggy-wig stood, — 

With a ring at the end of his nose, 
His nose; 
With a ring at the end of his nose. 

"Dear Pig. are you willing to sell for one shilling 

Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will." 
So they took it away, and were married next day 

By the Turkey who lives on the hill. 
They dined upon mice and slices of quince, 

Which they ate with a runcible spoon ; 
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, 

They danced by the light of the moon, — 
The moon ; 

They danced by the light of the moon. 



The Flag Goes By 

Henry Holcomb Bennett 

Hats off ! 
Along the street there comes 
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, 
A flash of color beneath the sky : 
Hats off! 
The flag is passing by ! 

Blue and crimson and white it shines, 
Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. 
Hats off! 

The colors before us fly; 
But more than the flag is passing by. 

Page One Hundred and Seventy-Three 



Poems of piortij 



Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great, 
Fought to make and to save the State : 
Weary marches and sinking ships ; 
Cheers of victory on dying lips; 

Days of plenty and years of peace; 
March of a strong land's swift increase; 
Equal justice, right and law, 
Stately honor and reverend awe; 

Sign of a nation, great and strong 
Toward her people from foreign wrong: 
Pride and glory and honor, — all 
Live in the colors to stand or fall. 

Hats off-! 
Along the street there comes 
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums ; 
And loyal hearts are beating high : 
Hats off ! 
The flag is passing by ! 



The Duel 

Eugene Field 



The gingham dog and the calico cat 

Side by side on the table sat; 

'Twas half-past twelve, and (what do you think!) 

Not one nor t' other had slept a wink ! 

The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate 

Appeared to know as sure as fate 

There was going to be a terrible spat. 
(I wasn't there; I simply state 
What was told to me by the Chinese plate!) 

The gingham dog went "Bow-wow-wow !" 
And the calico cat replied "Mee-ow !" 
The air was littered, an hour or so, 
With bits of gingham and calico, 

While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place 

Up with its hands before its face, 
For it always dreaded a family row! 

(Now mind: I'm only telling you 

What the old Dutch clock declares is true!) 

Page One Hundred and Seventy-Four 



^poems of JSHortlj 



The Chinese plate looked very blue, 
And wailed. "Oh, dear! what shall we do!" 
But the gingham dog and the calico cat 
Wallowed this way and tumbled that, 
Employing every tooth and claw- 
In the aw fullest way yon ever saw — 
And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew! 
i Don't fancy I exaggerate — 
I got my news from the Chinese plate!) 



Xext morning w 'here the two had sat 
They found no trace of dog or cat ; 
And some folks think unto this day 
That burglars stole that pair away! 
But the truth about the cat and pup 
[s this: they ate each other up! 
Now what do you really think of that! 
(The old Dutch clock it told me so, 
And that is how I came to know.) 



The Night Wind 

Eugene Field 

Have you ever heard the wind go"Yoooooo?' 

'Tis a pitiful sound to hear for it seems 

To chill you through and through, 

AN'itH a strange and speechless fear, 

''lis the voice of the night that broods outside 

When folks should be asleep, 

And many and many's the time I've cried 

To the darkness brooding far and wide 

Over the land and the deep ; 

"Whom do you want, O lonely night. 

That you wail the long hours through?" 

And the night would say in its ghostly way: 

"Yooooooooooo, 

Yoooooooooooo, 

Yoooooooooooo. " 

My mother told me long ago 

(When I was a little tad) 

That when the night went wailing so, 

Somebody had been bad ; 

And, then when I was snug in bed, 

Whither T had been sent, 

With the blankets pulled up round my head, 

Page One Hundred and Seventy-Five 



Poems of JHUortfy 



I'd think of what my mother'd said, 

And wonder what boy she meant, 

And "Who's been bad today?" I'd ask 

Of the wind that hoarsely blew, 

And the voice would say in it's meaningful way ; 

"Yooooooooooo, 

Yoooooooooooo, 

Yoooooooooooo." 

That this was true I must allow — 

You'll not believe it though, 

Yes, though I'm quite a model now, 

I was not always so, 

And if you doubt what things I say, 

Suppose you make the test ; 

Suppose, when you've been bad some day 

And up to bed are sent away, 

From mother and the rest, 

Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad ?" 

And then you'll hear what's true, 

For the wind will moan in its ruefullest tone; 

"Yooooooooooo, 

Yoooooooooooo, 

Yoooooooooooo." 



The Sugar Plum Tree 

Eugene Field 

Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree? 

'Tis a marvel of great renown, 

It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop sea 

In the garden of Shut-Eye Town, 

The fruit that it bears is so wonderously sweet, 

(As those who have tasted it say) 

That good little children have only to eat 

Of that fruit to be happy next day. 

When you've got to the tree you would have a hard time 

To capture the fruit that I sing; 

The tree is so tall that no person could climb 

To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing, 

But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat, 

And a ginger-bread dog prowls below — 

And this is the way you contrive to get at 

Those sugar-plums tempting you so ; 

Page One Hundred and Seventy-Six 



•JJocms of Pfort!| 



Yon say but the word to that ginger-bread dog 

And he harks with such terrible zest, 

That the chocolate cat is at once all agog, 

As her swelling proportions attest, 

And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around 

prom this leafy limb unto that, 

And the sugar plums tumble, of course, to the ground — 

Hurrah for that chocolate cat. 

There are marshmallows, gumdrops and peppermint 

canes. 
With stripings of scarlet or gold, 
And you carry away of the treasure that rains, 
As much as your apron can hold, 
S< ■ come, little child, cuddle closer to me 
In your dainty, white night-cap and gown, 
And I'll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree, 
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town. 



Wynken, Blynken and Nod 

(Dutch Lullaby) 

Eugene Field 

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night 

Sailed off in a wooden shoe — 

Sailed on a river of crystal light, 

Into a sea of dew. 

"Where are you going, and what do you wish ?" 

The old moon asked the three, 

"We have come to fish for the herring fish 

That live in this beautiful sea, 

Nets of silver and gold have we," 

Said Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. 

The old moon laughed and sang a song, 

As they rocked in the wooden shoe, 

And the wind that sped them all night long 

Ruffled the waves of dew. 

The little stars were the herring fish 

That lived in that beautiful sea — 

"Xow cast vour nets, wherever you wish — 

Xever afeared are we;" 

ricd the stars to the fishermen three; 
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. 

Page One Hundred and Seventy-Seven 



^jloems of pJoril] 



All night long their nets they threw, 

To the stars in the twinkling foam. 

Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, 

Bringing the fishermen home. 

'Twas alj so pretty a sail it seemed 

As if it could not be, 

And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed 

Of sailing that beautiful sea, 

But I shall name you the fisherman three ; 

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. 

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 

And Nod is a little head, 

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies, 

Is a wee one's trundle-bed. 

So shut your eyes while mother sings, 

Of wonderful sights that be, 

And you shall see the beautiful things, 

As you rock in the misty sea, 

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three ; 

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. 



The Raggedy Man 

James Whitcomb Riley 
(From the Biographical Edition) 
O The Raggedy Man ! He works f er Pa ; 
An' he's the goodest man ever you saw ! 
He comes to our house every day, 
An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay ; 
An' he opens the shed — an' we all ist laugh, 
When he drives out our little, old wobble-ly calf ; 
An' nen — ef our hired girl says he can — 
He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann. 
Ain't he a' awful good Raggedy Man? 
Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 

W'y, The Raggedy Man — he's ist so good, 
He splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood ; 
An' nen he spades in our garden, too, 
An' does most things 'at boys can't do ! 
He dumb clean up in our big tree, 
An' shooked a' apple down fer me — 
An' nother'n, too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann — 
An' nother'n, too, fer The Raggedy Man. 
Ain't he a' awful kind Raggedy Man? 
Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 

Page One Hundred and Seventy-Eight 



^tlurms nf ll'Inrtlt 



An' The Ragged) Man. he knows most rhymes 
An' tills 'em, ft" 1 he good, sometimes; 
Knows 'bout (iinnts. an' < iriffuns, an' Klvcs, 
An' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swallers therselves! 
An' wite by the pump in our pasture-lot, 
He showed me the hole 'at the \Y links is got, 
'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' can 
Turn into me, er 'Lizahnth Ann ! 
Ain't he a funny, old Raggedy Man? 
dy ! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 

The Raggedy Man — one time when he 
Wuz makin' a little how-'n'-orry fer me, 
Says. "When you're hig like your Pa is, 
Air you go to keep a fine store like his — 
An' be a rich merchunt — an' wear fine clothes? 
Er what air you goin' to be, goodness knows!" 
An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann, 
An' I says " 'M go' to be a Raggedy Man! 
I'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man." 
Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 



Our Hired Girl 

James Whitcomb Riley 

(From the Biographical Edition) 

Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann : 

An' she can cook best things to eat! 

She ist puts dough in our pie-pan, 

An' pours in somepin' 'ats good and sweet, 

An' nen she salts it all on top 

With cinnamon; an' nen she'll stop 

An' stoop an' slide it, ist as slow, 

In th' old cook-stove, so's 'twon't slop 

An' git all spilled ; nen bakes it, so 

It's custard pie. first thing you know ! 

An' nen she'll say ; 

"Clear out o' my way ! 

They's time fer work, an' time fer play ! 

Take yer dough, an' run. child, run! 

Er I cain't git no cookin' done!" 

When our hired girl 'tends like she's mad, 
An' say, "Folks got to walk the chalk 
When she's around, er wisht they had," 
T play out on our porch an' talk 

Page One Hundred and Seventy-Nine 



^paems of piorttj 



To Th' Raggedy Man 'at mows our lawn; 
An' he says, "Whew !" an' nen leans on 
His old crook-scythe, and blinks his £yes 
An' sniffs around an' says, "I swawn ! 
Ef my old nose don't tell me lies, 
It 'pears like I smell custard-pies !" 
An' nen he'll say, 
"Clear out o' my way ! 
They's time for work an' time f er play ! 
Take yer dough, an' run, child, run ! 
Er she cain't git no cookin' done !" 



Little Orphant Annie 

James Whitcomb Riley 
(From the Biographical Edition) 
Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, 
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an brush the crumbs 

away, 
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, 

an' sweep, 
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board- 

an'-keep ; 
An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, 
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun, 
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about, 
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you ef you don't watch out! 

Onc't they was a little boy (who) wouldn't say his 
prayers — 

So when he went to bed at night, away up stairs, 

His Mammy heered him holler, an' his. Daddy heered him 
bawl, 

An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there 
at all ! 

An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, 
an' press, 

An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I 
guess ; 

But all they ever found was thist his pants an' round- 
about, 

An' the Gobble-uns '11 git you ef you don't watch out ! 

An' one time a little girl 'ud alius laugh an' grin, 
An' make fun of ever'one, an' all her blood and kin ; 
An' onc't, when they was "company," an' ole folks was 
there, 

Page One Hundred and Eighty 



JJocms of JQSoril] 



She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! 
An' t hist as she kicked her heels, an' tnrn't to run and 
hide. 

There was two, great big black things a-standin' by her 

side, 
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she 

knowed what she's about ! 
An' the Gobble-uns Ml git you ef you don't watch out! 

An' little < >rphant Annie says when the blaze is blue, 
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo ! 
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray, 
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away, 
Ybu better mind your parents, an' your teachers fond 

and dear. 
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, 
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at cluster all about, 
Kr the ( robble-uns '11 git you ef you don't watch out ! 



Only One Mother 

( rEORGE COOPER 

Hundreds of stars in the pretty sky, 

Hundreds of shells on the shore together, 

Hundreds of birds that go singing by, 
Hundreds of bees in the sunny weather. 

Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn, 
Hundreds of lambs in the purple clover, 

Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn, 
Rut onlv one mother the wide world over. 



They Didn't Think 

Phoebe Cary 

Once a trap was baited 
With a piece of cheese; 
It tickled so a little mouse 
It almost made him sneeze. 
An old rat said, "There's danger, 
Be careful where you go!" 
"Nonsense !" said the other, 
"I don't think you know !" 
So he walked in boldly — 
Nobody in sight ; 
First he took a nibble, 



Page One Hundred and Eighty-One 



^Wms of Pforttj 



Then he took a bite ; 
Close the trap together 
Snapped as quick as wink, 
Catching mousey fast there, 
'Cause he didn't think. 

Once a little turkey, 

Fond of her own way, 

Wouldn't ask the old ones, 

Where to go or stay ; 

She said, "I'm not a baby, 

Here I am half -grown ; 

Surely I am big enough 

To run about alone!" 

Off she went, but somebody 

Hiding saw her pass; 

Soon like snow her feathers 

Covered all the grass. 

So she made a supper 

For a sly, young mink, 

'Cause she was so headstrong, 

That she wouldn't think. 

Once there was a robin 

Lived outside the door, 

Who wanted to go inside 

And hop upon the floor. 

"No, no," said the mother, 

"You must stay with me, 

Little birds are safest 

Sitting in a tree." 

"I don't care," said Robin, 

And gave his tail a fling, 

"I don't think the old folks 

Know quite everything." 

Down he flew, and Kitty seized him, 

Before he'd time to blink ; 

"Oh," he cried, "I'm sorry, 

But I didn't think." 

Now, my little children, 
You who read this song, 
Don't you see what trouble, 
Comes of thinking wrong? 
And can't you take a warning 
From their dreadful fate, 



Page One Hundred and Eighty-Two 



ffloemg of $Bort[] 



Who began their thinking 

When it was too late? 

Don't think there's always safety, 

When no danger shows; 

Don't suppose you know more 

Than anybody knows. 

But when you're warned of ruin, 

Pause upon the brink, 

And don't go under headlong, 

'Cause you didn't think. 



Raining 
Robert Loveman 

It isn't raining rain to me. 

It's raining daffodils • 
In every dimpled drop I see 

Wild flowers on the hills; 
Tho clouds of gray engulf the day 

And overwhelm the town; 
It isn't raining rain to me, 

It's raining roses down. 

It isn't raining rain to me, 

But fields of clover bloom, 
Where every buccaneering bee, 

May find a bed and room. 
A health unto the happy! 

A fig for him who frets ! 
It isn't raining rain to me. 

It's raining violets. 



Page One Hundred and Eighty-Thi 



Poems for Fall and Winter 



Autumn Leaves 

George Cooper 

"Come, little leaves," said the wind one day, 
"Come over the meadows with me, and play; 
Put on your. dresses of red and gold; 
Summer is gone, and the days grow cold." 

Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call, 
Down they came fluttering, one and all; 
Over the brown fields they danced and flew, 
Singing the soft little songs they knew. 

"Cricket, good-bye, we've been friends so long; 
Little brook, sing us your farewell song — 
Say you're sorry to see us go ; 
Ah ! you are sorry, right well we know. 

"Dear little lambs, in your fleecy fold, 
Mother will keep you from harm and cold; 
Fondly we've watched you in vale and glade; 
Say, will you dream of our loving shade?" 

Dancing and whirling the little leaves went ; 
Winter had called them and they were content. 
Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds, 
The snow laid a soft mantle over their heads. 



How* the Leaves Came Down 

Susan Coolidge 

"I'll tell you how the leaves came down," 
The Great Tree to his children said, 
"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, 
Yes, very sleepy, little Red, 
It is quite time to go to bed." 

"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, 

"Let us a little longer stay ; 

Dear Father Tree, behold our grief ; 

'Tis such a very pleasant day 

We do not want to go away." 

Page One Hundred and Eighty-Four 



•poems of JHHorrl] 



So, for just one more merry day, 
To the Great Tree the Leaflets clung, 
Frolicked and danced, and had their way, 
I *pon the autumn breezes swung, 
Whispering all their sports among. 

"Perhaps the Great Tree will forget, 
Ami let us stay until the spring, 
I f we all beg, and coax, and fret." 
But the Great Tree did no such thing ; 
lie smiled to hear their whispering. 

"( ome, children, all to bed," he cried; 
And ere the leaves could urge their prayer, 
1 [e shook his head, and far and wide, 
Fluttering and rustling everywhere, 
Down sped the leaflets through the air. 

I saw them ; on the ground they lay, 
Golden and red, a huddled swarm, 
Waiting till one from far away, 
White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, 
Should come to wrap them safe and warm. 

The Great Tree looked down and smiled, 
"Good-night, dear little Leaves," he said. 
And from below each sleepy child 
Replied, "Good-night," and murmured, 
"It is so nice to go to bed !" 



Time Enough 

(Selected) 

Two little squirrels out in the sun, 
One gathered nuts, the other had none ; 
"Time enough yet," his constant refrain, 
"Summer is only just' on the wane." 

Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate: 

He roused him at last, but he aroused him too late; 

Down fell the snow from the pitiless cloud, 

And gave little squirrel a >]><itless white shroud. 

Two little boys in a school-room were placed, 
One always perfect, the other disgraced; 
"Time enough yet fur my learning," he said, 
"I'll climb by and by from the foot to the head." 

Page One Hundred and Eighty-Five 



JWms of Purify 



Listen, my darling: Their locks have turned gray, 

One as a governor is sitting today; 

The other a pauper, looks out at the door 

Of the almshouse, and idles his days as of yore. 

Two kinds of people we meet every day ; 
One is at work, the other at play, — 
Living uncared for, dying unknown — - 
The business hive hath ever a drone. 

Tell me, my child, if the squirrels have taught 
The lesson I long to impart in your thought; 
Answer me this, and my story is done, 
Which of the two you would be, little one? 



September 

HELEN HUNT JACKSON 

The golden-rod is yellow, 
The corn is turning brown; 

The trees in apple orchards 
With fruit are bending down. 

The gentian's bluest fringes 
Are curling in the sun ; 

In dusky pods the milkweed 
It's hidden silk has spun. 

The sedges flaunt their harvest 
In every meadow-nook; 

And asters by the brookside 
Make asters in the brook. 

From dewy lanes at morning, 
The grapes' sweet odors rise ; 

At noon the roads all flutter 
With yellow butterflies. 

By all these lovely tokens 
September days are here, 

With summer's best of weather, 
And autumn's best of cheer. 



Page One Hundred and Eighty-Six 



|3nrme of 333orth 



The Squirrel's Arithmetic 

Annie Douglas Bell 

High on the branch of a walnut-tree 

A bright-eyed squirrel sat. 
What was he thinking so earnestly? 

And what was he looking at? 

The forest was green around him, 

The sky all over his head ; 
His nest was in a hollow limb, 

And his children snug in bed. 

lie was doing a problem o'er and o'er, 

Busily thinking was he : 
How many nuts for this winter's store 

Could he hide in the hollow tree? 

He sat so still on the swaying bough, 
You might have thought him asleep. 

Oh, no; he was trying to reckon now 
The nuts the babies could eat. 

Then suddenly he frisked about, 

And down the tree he ran. 
"The best way to do, without a doubt, 

Is to gather all I can." 



October's Bright Blue Weather 

Helen Hunt Jackson 

O, sun and skies and clouds of June 
And flowers of June together, 

Ye cannot rival for one hour, 
October's bright blue weather. 

When loud the bumblebee makes haste, 

Belated, thriftless vagrant, 
And golden-rod is dying fast. 

And lanes with grapes are fragrant. 

When gentians roll their fringes tight, 
To save them for the morning, 

And chestnuts fall from satin burrs 
Without a sound of warning. 

Page One Hundred and Eighty-Seven 



^oema of pJortrj 



When on the ground red apples lie 

In piles like jewels shining, 
And redder still on old stone walls, 

Are leaves of woodbine twining. 

When all the lovely wayside things 
Their white-winged seeds are sowing, 

And in fields, still green and fair, 
Late aftermaths are growing. 

When springs run low, and on the brooks, 

In idle golden freighting, 
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush 

Of woods, for winter waiting. 

When comrades seek sweet country haunts, 

By twos and twos together, 
And count like misers, hour by hour, 

October's bright, blue weather. 

O sun and skies and flowers of June, 
Count all your boasts together, 

Love loveth best of all the year, 
October's bright blue weather. 



October's Party 

(Selected) 

October gave a party; 

The leaves by hundreds came, 
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples, 

And leaves of every name. 

The sunshine spread a carpet, 
And everything was grand: 

Miss Weather led the dancing, 
Professor Wind the band. 

The Chestnuts came in yellow, 
The Oaks in crimson dressed, 

The lovely Misses Maple 
In scarlet looked their best. 

All balanced to their partners 

And gaily fluttered by; 
The sight was like a rainbow 

New fallen from the sky. 



Page One Hundred and Eighty-Eight 



Poems of JHorirj 



Then in the rustic hollow, 
At hide-and-seek they played; 

The party closed at sundown 
And everybody stayed. 

Professor Wind played louder; 

They flew along the ground, 
And then the party ended 

In hands across, all round. 



Three Little Chestnuts 

(Selected) 
Three little chestnuts in from the country 
Bobbed up ever so bold, 
One said, "Ooooooo," 
And one said, "Boooooo," 
And one said, "My isn't it cold?" 

Three little chestnuts rolled on a roaster 

Over a big, iron pot, 

One said, "Ooooooo," 

And one said, "Boooooo," 

And one said, "Ouch, isn't it hot?" 

One little newsboy laid down a penny 

And swallowed them up like a shark, 

One said, "Ooooooop," 

And one said, Whoooooop." 

And one said, "My, isn't it dark?" 



Little Snowflakes 

(Selected) 
Still and gentle all around, 

Little snowflakes, soft and light, 
One by one spread o'er the ground, 

Making it a fleecy white. 

As we watch these little flakes, 
Falling down so small and light, 

Who would think so few it takes 
Thus to form this robe of white? 

Just like them are duties done, 
Still and gentle, every hour; 

Smallest deeds, we early learn, 
Give to life its greatest power. 



Pajje One Hundred and Eighty-Nine 



•poems of JUHoril] 



Thanksgiving Day 

Lydia Maria Child 

Over the river and through the wood, 
To grandfather's house we'll go ; 

The horse knows the way 

To carry the sleigh 

Through the white and drifted snow. 

• 
Over the river and through the wood — 
Oh, how the wind does blow ! 

It stings the toes, 

-And bites the nose 
As over the ground we go. 

Over the river and through the wood, 
To have a first-rate play, 

Hear the bells ring 

"Ting-aling-ding !" 
Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day ! 

Over the river and through the wood 
Trot fast, my dapple gray ! 

Spring over the ground 

Like a hunting hound, 
For this is Thanksgiving Day. 

Over the river and through the wood, 
And straight through the barn-yard gate; 

We seem to go 

Extremely slow; 
It is so hard to wait ! 

Over the river and through the wood, 
Now grandmother's cap I spy ! 

Hurrah for the fun! 

Is the pudding done? 
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie ! 



The Frost 

Hannah F. Gould 

The Frost looked forth one still, clear night, 
And whispered, "Now, I shall be out of sight 
So, through the valley, and over the height, 
In silence I'll take my way. 

Page One Hundred and Ninety 



ippema uf PEfort(| 



I will not go on like that blustering train, 
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, 
That make such a bustle and noise in vain ; 
But I'll be as busy as they!" 

So he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest, 
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed 
\\ ith diamonds and pearls; and over the breast 
< >f the quivering lake, he spread 
A coat of mail, that it need not fear 
The glittering point of many a spear 
Which he hung on its margin, far and near, 
Where a rock could rear its head. 

He went to the windows of those who slept, 
And over each pane like a fairy crept : 
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, 
By the light of the morn were seen 
Most beautiful things! There were flowers and trees, 
There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees ; 
There were cities with temples and towers ; and these 
All pictured in silver sheen ! 

But he did one thing that was hardly fair, — 
He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there 
That all had forgotten for him to prepare. 
"Now, just to set them a-thinking, 
I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he, 
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three! 
And the glass of water they've left for me, 
Shall 'tchick !' to tell them I'm drinking." 



The Little Kittens 

(Selected) 

Two little kittens, one stormy night, 
Began to quarrel and then to fight ; 
One had a mouse, the other had none, 
And that was the way the quarrel begun. 

"I'll have that mouse," said the bigger cat. 
"You'll have that mouse? We'll see about that." 
"I will have that mouse," said the elder son. 
"You won't have that mouse!" said the little one. 

Page One Hundred and Ninety-One 



•JJoems ai Purify 



I told you before 'twas a stormy night 
When these two little kittens began to fight ; 
The old woman seized her sweeping broom, 
And swept the two kittens right out of the room. 

The ground was covered with frost and snow, 
And the two little kittens had nowhere to go; 
So they laid them down on the mat at the door, 
While the angry old woman was sweeping the floor. 

And then they crept in as quiet as mice, 

All wet with snow, and as cold as ice 

For they found it was better, that stormy night, 

To lie down and sleep than to quarrel and fight. 



The Wonderful Weaver 

George Cooper 

There'^ a wonderful weaver high up in the air 
And he weaves a white mantle for cold earth to wear 
With the wind for his shuttle, and the clouds for his loom, 
How he weaves, how he weaves, in the light, in the gloom. 

Oh, with finest of laces he decks bush and tree, 
On the bare, flinty meadows a cover lays he, 
Then a quaint cap he places on pillar and post, 
And he changes the pump to a grim silent ghost. 

But this wonderful weaver grows weary at last 
And the shuttle lays idle that once flew so fast, 
Then the sun peeps abroad on the work that is done, 
And he smiles I'll unravel it all just for fun. 



Page One Hundred and Ninety-Two 



ijjlorms of ^ortl] 



Poems for Christmas Time 



Hang Up the Baby's Stocking 

Anonymous 

Hang up the baby's stocking: 

Be sure you don't forget; 
The dear little dimpled darling! 

She ne'er saw Christmas yet ; 
But I've told her all about it, 

And she opened her big blue eyes, 
And I'm sure she understood it — 

She looked so funny and wise. 

Dear ! What a tiny stocking ! 

It doesn't take much to hold 
Such little pink toes as baby's 

Away from the frost and cold. 
But then for the baby's Christmas 

It will never do at all ; 
Why Santa wouldn't be looking 

For anything half so small. 

I know what I'll do for the baby. 

I've thought of the very best plan: 
I'll borrow a stocking of grandma, 

The longest that ever I can ; 
And you'll hang it by mine, dear mother, 

Right here in the corner, so ! 
And write a letter to Santa, 

And fasten it on to the toe. 

Write, "This is the baby's stocking 

That hangs in the corner here ; 
You never have seen her, Santa, 

For she only came this year : 
Bui she's just the blessedest baby, 

And now, before you go, 
Just cram her stocking with goodies, 

From the top clean down to the toe." 

Page One Hundred and Ninety -Three 



•poems of JUJortfy 



Christmas 

Nahum Tate 

While shepherds watch'd their flocks by night, 

All seated on the ground, 
The angel of the Lord came down, 

And glory shone around. 

"Fear not," said he (for mighty dread 
Had seized their troubled mind) ; 

"Glad tidings of great joy I bring 
To you and all mankind. 

To you, in David's town, this day 

Is born of David's line 
The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord; 

And this shall be the sign : 

The Heavenly Babe you there shall find 

To human view display'd, 
All meanly wrapt in swathing bands, 

And in a manger laid." 

Thus spake the Seraph ; and forthwith 

Appear'd a shining throng 
Of angels, praising God, and thus 

Address'd their joyful song: 

"All glory be to God on high, 
' And to the earth be peace; 

l Good-will henceforth from heaven to men 
) Begin, and never cease !" 



A Visit from St. Nicholas 

Clement C. Moore 

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the 

house 
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; 
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, 
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there ; 
The children were nestling all snug in their beds, 

Page One Hundred and Ninety-Four 



florins of Jllm-tli 



While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; 

And Mamma in her 'kerchief, and 1 in my cap, 

Had jnst settled our brains*for a long winter's nap, 

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, 

I sprang from my bed to sec what was the matter, 

Away tn the window 1 flew like a flash, 

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. 

The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, 

( lave a luster of midday to objects below; 

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear 

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, 

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, 

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 

More rapid than eagles his -coursers they came, 

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name. 

"Now, Dasher! now. Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! 

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blixen ! 

To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! 

Now, dash away, dash away, dash away, all !" 

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, 

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, 

So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, 

With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas, too. 

And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof 

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof! 

As I drew in my head, and was turning around, 

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. 

He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, 

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot ; 

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, 

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. 

His eyes, how they twinkled ! His dimples, how merry ! 

His checks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; 

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, 

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. 

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, 

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath, 

He had a broad face, and a round little belly 

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. 

He was chubby and plump — a right jolly old elf ; 

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself ; 

A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, 

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, 

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, 

And laying his finger aside of his nose, 

Page One Hundred and Ninety-Five 



^Jaems of JIUflrtlj 



And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. 
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a v/histle, 
And away they all flew like the down on a thistle; 
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, 
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!" 



O Little Town of Bethlehem 

Phillips Brooks 

O little town of Bethlehem! 

How still we see thee lie, 
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep 

The silent stars go by ; 
Yet in thy dark street shineth 

The everlasting Light; 
The hopes and fear of all the years, 

Are met in thee tonight. 

For Christ, is born of Mary, 

And gathered all above 
While mortals sleep the angels keep 

Their watch of wondering love. 
O morning stars together 

Proclaim his holy birth ! 
And praises sing to God the King, 

And peace to men on earth. 

How silently, how silently, 

The wondrous gift is given ; 
So God imparts to human hearts 

The blessings of His heaven. 
No ear may hear His coming, 

But in this world of sin, 
Where meek souls will receive Him still, 

The dear Christ enters in. 

O, Holy Child of Bethlehe^. 

Descend to us, we pray, 
Cast out our sin and enter in, 

Be born in us today. 
We hear the Christmas angels, 

The great glad tidings tell, 
O, come to us, abide with us, 

Our Lord Immanuel. 

Page One Hundred and Ninety-Six 



{JJoema of JHortl] 



While Shepherds Watched Their 
Flocks by Night 

Margaret Deland 
Like small curled feathers, white and soft, 

The little clouds went by, 
Across the moon, and past the stars, 

And down the western sky; 
In upland pastures, where the grass 

With frosted dew was white, 
Like snowy clouds the young sheep lay, 

That first, best Christmas night. 

The shepherds slept, and, glimmering faint, 

With twist of thin, blue smoke, 
Only their fire's crackling flames 

The tender silence broke — 
Save when a young lamb raised his head, 

Or, when the night wind blew, 
A nesting bird would softly stir, 

Where dusky olives grew. 

With finger on her solemn lip, 

Night hushed the shadowy earth, 
And only stars and angels saw 

The little Saviour's birth ; 
Then came such flash of silver light 

Across the bending skies, 
The wondering shepherds woke, and hi J 

Their frightened, dazzled eyes ! 

And all their gentle sleepy flock 

Looked up, then slept again, 
Nor knew the light that dimmed the star 3 

Brought endless peace to men — 
Nor even heard the gracious words 

That down the ages ring — 
"The Christ is born ! The Lord has come, 

Good-will on earth to bring!" 

Then o'er the moonlit, misty fields, 

Dumb with the world's great joy, 
The shepherds sought the white-walled town, 

Where lay the baby boy — 
And oh, the gladness of the world. 

The glory of the skies, 
Because the longed-for Christ looked up 

In Mary's happy eyes! 

Page One Hundred and Ninety-Seven 



^Joems of JHUortrf 



Christmas Song 

Lydia A. C. Ward 

Why do bells for Christmas ringi 
Why do little children sing? 
Once a lovely shining star, 
Seen by shepherds from afar, 
Gently moved until its light 
Made a manger cradle bright. 

There a darling baby lay 
Pillowed soft upon the hay, 
And his mother sang and smiled, 
"This is Christ, the Holy Child," 
So the bells for Christmas ring, 
So the little children sing. 



Page One Hundred and Ninety-Eight 



Poems for Spring 



A Spring Song 

Children's Friend and Kindergarten 

Old Mother Earth woke up from her sleep, 

And found she was cold and bare; 
The winter was over, the spring was near, 

And she had not a dress to wear. 

"Alas!" she sighed, with great dismay, 

"Oh, where shall I get my clothes? 
There's not a place to buy a suit, 

And a dressmaker no one knows." 

"I'll make you a dress," said the springing grass 

Just looking above the ground, 
"A dress of green of the loveliest sheen, 

To cover you all around." 

"And we," said the dandelions gay, 

"Will dot it with yellow bright." 
"I'll make it a fringe," said forget-me-not, 

"Of blue, very soft and light." 

"We'll embroider the front," said the violets, 

"With a lovely purple hue." 
"And we," said the roses, "will make you a crown 

Of red. jeweled over with dew." 

"And we'll be your gems," said a voice from the shade 

Where the ladies' ear-drops live — 
"Orange is the color for any queen 

And the best we have to give." 

Old Mother Earth was thankful and glad, 

As she put on her dress so gay ; 
And that is the reason, my little ones, 

She is looking so lovely today. 



A Laughing Chorus 

(Selected) 

Oh, such a commotion under the ground 
When March called, "Ho, there! Ho!" 

Such spreading of rootlets far and wide, 
Such whispering to and fro ; 

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•paems of pforilj 



And, "Are you ready?" the Snowdrop asked, 

" 'Tis time to start, you know." 
"Almost, my dear," the Scilla replied; 

"I'll follow as soon as you go." 
Then, "Ha ! Ha ! Ha !" a chorus came 

Of laughter soft and low, 
From the millions of flowers under the ground — 

Yes — millions — beginning to grow. 

"I'll promise my blossoms," the Crocus said, 

"When I hear the bluebirds sing." 
And straight thereafter, Narcissus cried, 

"My silver and gold I'll bring." 
"And ere they are dulled," another spoke, 

"The Hyacinth bells shall ring," 
And the Violet only murmured, "I'm here," 

And sweet grew the air of spring. 
Then, "Ha ! Ha ! Ha !" a chorus came 

Of laughter soft and low, 
From the millions of flowers under the ground — 

Yes — millions — beginning to grow. 

Oh, the pretty, brave things ! through the coldest days, 

Imprisoned in walls of brown, 
They never lost heart though the blast shrieked loud, 

And the sleet and the hail came down. 
But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress, 

Or fashioned her beautiful crown; 
And now they are coming to brighten the world, 

Still shadowed by Winter's frown ; 
And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha ! Ha !" 

In a chorus soft and low, 
The millions of flowers hid under the ground — 

Yes — millions — beginning to grow. 



Cock Robin and Jenny Wren 

(Selected from Mother Goose Rhymes) 

It was a merry time, 

When Jenny Wren was young, 
So neatly as she danced, 

And so sweetly as she sung, 
Robin Redbreast lost his heart : 

He was a gallant bird ; 
He doffed his hat to Jenny, 

And thus to her he said : 

Page Two Hundred 



yuents nf jHUn'tli 



"My dearest Jenny Wren, 

I f yon will but be mine, 
You shall dine on cherry pie, 

And drink nice currant wine; 
I'll dress you like a Goldfinch, 

I )t like a l'eacock gay ; 
So if you'll have me, Jenny, 

Let us appoint the day." 

Jenny blushed behind her fan, 

And thus declared her mind. 
"Then let it be tomorrow, Bob, 

I'll take your offer kind — 
Cherry pie is very good ! 

So is currant wine ! 
But I will wear my own brown gown, 

And never dress too fine." 

Robin rose up early, 

At the break of day, 
He flew to Jenny Wren's house, 

To sing a roundelay. 
He met the Cock and Hen, 

And bid the Cock declare, 
This was his wedding-day 

With Jenny Wren, the fair. 

The Cock then blew his horn, 

To let the neighbors know, 
This was Robin's wedding-day 

And they might see the show. 
And first came Parson Rook, 

With his spectacles and band, 
And one of Mother Hubbard's books 

He held within his hand. 

Then followed him the Lark, 

For he could sweetly sing, 
And he was to be clerk 

At Cock Robin's wedding. 
He sung of Robin's love 

For little Jenny Wren 
And when he came unto the end, 

Then he began again. 

Then came the bride and bridegroom, 
Quite plainly was she dressed, 

And blushed so much her cheeks 
Were as red as Robin's breast. 

Page Two Hundred and One 



;Jf oems of JHoritj 



But Robin cheered her up, 

"My pretty Jen," said he, 
"We're going to be married, 

And happy we shall be." 

The Goldfinch came on next, 

To give away the bride, 
The Linnet being bridesmaid, 

Walked by Jenny's side. 
And as she was a walking, said, 

"Upon my word I think, 
That your Cock Robin 

Is a very pretty bird." 

The Black-bird and the Thrush, 

And the charming Nightingale, 
The Sparrow and Tom Tit, 

And many more were there. 
All came to see the wedding 

Of Jenny Wren the fair. 
"And will you have her, Robin, 

To be your wedded wife?" 
"Yes, I will," said Robin, 

"And love her all my life." 

"And will you have him, Jenny, 

Your husband now to be?" 
'"Yes, I will," said Jenny, 

"And love him heartily." 
"Oh, then," says Parson Rook, 

"Who gives this maid away ?" 
"I do," says the Goldfinch, 

"And her fortune I will pay, 
Here's a bag of grain of many sorts, 

And other things beside, 
Now happy be the bridegroom and 

Happy be the bride." 

Then on her finger fair 

Cock Robin put the ring, 
"You're married now," savs Parson Rook, 

While the Lark aloud did sing — 
"Happy be the bridegroom, 

And happy be the bride. 
And may not man nor bird 

Nor beast this happy pair divide." 

Page Two Hundred and Two 



IfoenoB uf lllortl] 



Now they all sat or stood, 

To eat and to drink, 
And everyone said what 

1 le happened to think ; 
The) each took a bumper, 

And drank to the pair: 
Cock Robin, the bridegroom, 

And jenny Wren, the fair. 

The dinner things removed, 

They all began to sing; 
And soon they made the place 

Near a mile round to ring. 
The concert it was fine; 

And every bird tried 
Who best could sing for Robin, 

And Jenny Wren, the bride. 

Then in came the Cuckoo, 

And he made a great rout; 
He caught hold of Jenny 

And pulled her about. 
Cock Robin was angry, 

And so was the Sparrow, 
Who fetched in a hurry 

His bow and his arrow. 

His aim then he took, 

But he took it not right ; 
His skill was not good, 

Or he shot in a fright. 
For the Cuckoo he missed. 

But Cock Robin he killed. 
And all the birds mourned 

That his blood was so spilled. 



The Burial of Poor Cock Robin 

Who killed Cock Robin? 

"I," said the Sparrow, 

"With inv bow and arrow, 
And I killed Cock Robin." 

Who saw him die? 

"I," said the Fly, 

"With my little eye; 
And I saw him die." 

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^0ema of pJortfy 



Who caught his blood? 

"I," said the Fish, 

"With my little dish, 
And I caught his blood." 

Who made his shroud? 
"I," said the Beetle, 
"With my little needle, 

And I made his shroud." 

Who will be the parson? 

"I," said the Rook; 

"With my little book ; 
And I will be the parson." 

Who will dig his grave? 

"I said the Owl, 

"With my spade and shovel; 
And I'll dig his grave." 

Who will be the clerk? 
"I," said the Lark, 
"If 'tis not in the dark; 

And I will be the clerk." 

Who'll carry him to the grave ? 
"I," said the Kite, 
"If 'tis not in the night; 

And I'll carry him to the grave." 

Who will be chief mourner? 

"I," said the Dove, 

"Because of my love ; 
And I will be chief mourner." 

Who will bear the pall? 
"We," said the Wren, 
"Both the Cock and the Hen ; 

And we will bear the pall." 

Who will toll the bell? 

"I," said the Bull, 

"Because I can pull." 
And so Cock Robin, farewell. 

All the birds of the air, 
Fell to sighing and sobbing, 

When they heard the bell toll 
For poor Cock Robin. 



Page Two Hundred and Four 



^limits of JHflortlj 



The Bluebird 

Emily Huntington Miller 

I know the song that the bluebird is singing 
Up in the apple tree where he is swinging, 
Brave little fellow, the clouds may be dreary 
Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery. 
Hark, how the music leaps out from his throat. 
Hark, was there ever so merry a note? 
Listen a while and you'll hear what he's saying, 
Up in the apple tree, swinging and swaying. 

Dear little blossoms down under the snow, 
Ybu must be weary of winter, I know, 
Hark, while I sing you a message of cheer, 
Summer is coming and springtime is here. 
Little white snowdrop, I pray you arise, 
Bright yellow crocus, come, open your eyes; 
Sweet little violet, hid from the cold, 
Put on your mantle of purple and gold, 
Daffodil! Daffodil! Say do you hear? 
Summer is coming and springtime is here. 



Who Stole the Bird's Nest? 

Lydia Maria Child 

"To-whit ! To-whit ! To-wee ! 

Will you listen to me? 

Who stole four eggs I laid, 
And the nice nest I made?" 

"Not I," said the cow, "Moo-oo! 

Such a thing I'd never do. 
I gave you a wisp of hay, 
But didn't take your nest away. 

Not I," said the cow, "Moo-oo! 

Such a thing I'd never do." 

"To-whit! To-whit! To-whee! 

Will you listen to me? 

Who stole four eggs I laid, 
And the nice nest I made?" 

"Bob-o'-link ! Bob-o'-link ! 

Now what do you think ? 
Who stole a nest away 
From the plum-tree today?" 

Page Two Hundred and Five 



^Icema of pfortlj 



"Not I," said the dog, "Bow-wow !" 

I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow ! 

I gave the hairs the nest to make, 
But the nest I did not take. 

Not I," said the dog, "Bow-wow! 

I'm not so mean, anyhow." 

"To-whit ! To- whit ! To-whee ! 

Will you listen to me? 

Who stole four eggs I laid, 
And the nice nest I made?" 

"Bob-o'-link ! Bob-o'-link ! 

Now what do you think? 
Who stole a nest away 
From the plum-tree today?" 

"Coo-coo ! Coo-coo ! Coo-coo ! 

Let me speak a word, too ! 

Who stole that pretty nest 
From little yellow-breast?" 

"Not I," said the sheep; "oh, no! 
I gave wool the nest to line, 
But the nest was none of mine. 

Baa ! Baa !" said the sheep ; "oh, no ! 

I wouldn't treat a poor bird so." 

"To-whit ! To-whit ! To-whee ! 

Will you listen to me? 

Who stole the nest away 
From the plum-tree today?" 

"Coo-coo ! Coo-coo ! Coo-coo ! 

Let me speak a word too ! 
Who stole the pretty nest 
From little yellow-breast?" 

"Caw Caw !" cried the crow ; 
"I should like to know 

What thief took away 

A bird's nest today?" 

"Cluck! Cluck!" said the hen, 
"Don't ask me again. 

Why, I haven't a chick 

Would do such a trick. 
We all gave her a feather, 



Page Two Hundred and Six 



•poems of JQHorirf 



And she wove them together. 

I'd scorn to intrude 

On her and her brood. 
Cluck ! Cluck !" said the hen, 
"Don't ask me again." 

"Chirr-a-whirr ! Chirr-a-whirr ! 

All the birds make a stir! 
Let us find out his name, 
And all cry, 'for shame'!" 

"1 would not rob a bird," 
Said little Mary Green ; 

"I think I never heard 

Of anything so mean." 

"It is very cruel, too," 

Said little Alice Neal ; 
"I wonder if he knew 

How sad the bird would feel?" 

A little boy hung down his head, 
And went and hid behind his bed, 
For he stole that pretty nest 
From poor little yellow-breast; 
And he felt so full of shame, 
He didn't like to tell his name. 



Pussy Willows 

(Selected) 

Have you ever heard of pussies 
That never scratch or mew, 

Or chase their tails, or play with balls 
As other pussies do? 

But sit on rows on bushes 

As people in a pew, 
And if you listen all day long 

You'll never hear them mew. 

But if you go out walking 

Some pleasant warm spring day, 

Perhaps you'll see these pussies 
That never scratch or play. 

Page Two Hundred and Seven 



;Jf aems of JlHortfy 



The Year's at the Spring 

Robert Browning 

The year's at the spring 

The day's at the morn ; 

Morning's at seven; 

The hillside's dew pearled ; 

The lark's on the wing; 

The snail's on the thorn : 

God's in His heaven 

All's right with the world. 



Wishes and Work 

(Selected) 

Said one little chick, with a funny little squirm, 

"I wish I could find a nice fat worm." 

Said another little chick, with a queer little shrug, 

"I wish I could find a nice fat bug." 

Said a third little chick, with a strange little squeal, 

"I wish I could find some nice yellow meal." 

"Now, look here," said the mother, from the green garden 

patch, 
"If you want any breakfast, you just get up and scratch." 



A Quarrel in the Oven 

(Selected) 

Oh, the gingerbread boy and the piecrust girl, 

They had a quarrel one day ; 

Together they sat on the oven shelf, 
The piecrust fay and the gingerbread elf, 

And. the quarrel commenced this way: 

Said the gingerbread boy to the piecrust girl : 

"I'll wager my new brown hat 

That I'm fatter than you and much more tanned, 
Though you're filled with pride till you cannot stand, 

But what is the good of that?" 

Then the piecrust girl turned her little nose up 
In a most provoking way. 

"Oh, maybe you're brown, but you're poor as can be; 

You do not know lard from a green pea ! 
Is there aught that you do know, pray?" 

Page Two Hundred and Eight 



^limits af IHnrth 



( >h, the gingerbread boy, he laughed loudly with scorn 
As Ik- looked at the flaky piecrust. 

"Just watch how 1 rise in the world!" cried he; 

"Just see how I'm hound to grow light!" cried she, 
"While yon stay the color of rust." 

So the gingerbread hoy and the piecrust girl 
They each of them swelled with pride, 
Till a noise was heard in a room without. 
. A cry of delight, then a very glad shout, 
And the oven was opened wide. 

Then the gingerbread hoy and the piecrust girl 
Could have screamed and wept with pain, 

For a rosy-cheeked lass and a small, bright-eyed lad 
Took a big bite of each- — yes, this tale's very sad — 
So they'll now never quarrel again. 



Lily's Ball 

SlXECTED 

Lily gave a party, 

And her little playmates all, 
< iayly dressed came in their best, 

To dance at Lily's ball. 

Little Quaker Primrose 

Sat and never stirred, 
And, except in whimpers, 

Never spoke a word. 

Snowdrop nearly fainted 

Because the room was hot, 
And went away before the rest 

With sweet Forget-me-not. 

Pansy danced with Daffodil, 

Rose with Violet; 
Silly I )aisy fell in love 

With pretty Mignonette. 

But, when they danced the country-dance, 

One could scarcely tell 
Which of these two danced it best — 

Cowslip or Heatherbell. 

Page Two Hundred and Nine 



Wins of pJorih . 



Between the dances, when they all 
Were seated in their places, ■ 

I thought I'd never seen before 
So many pretty faces. 

But, of all the pretty maidens 

I saw at Lily's ball, 
Darling Lily was to me 

The sweetest of them all. 

And when the dance was over, 
They went downstairs to sup ; 

Each had a taste of honey-cake, 
With dew in a buttercup. 

And all were dressed to go away 

Before the set of sun; 
And Lily said "Good-bye," and gave 

A kiss to every one. 

Before the moon or a single star 

Was shining overhead, 
Lily and all her little friends 

Were fast asleep in bed. 



Spring Song 

(Selected) 

"Awake," said the sunshine; " 'tis time to get up; 
Awake, pretty daisy and sweet buttercup. 
Why, you've been sleeping the whole winter long. 
Hark! Hark! Don't you hear? 'Tis the bluebird's first 
song." 

"Awake," call the streamlets. "We've lain here so still, 
And now we must all go to work with a will." 
"Wake," says the warm breeze, "and you, willow tree, 
Come, put on your leaves in a twinkling for me!" 

"Awake," breathes the air from the blue sky above, 
"Awake, for the air is all beauty and love. 
Wake, little children so merry and dear; 
Ah! what were the spring, if you were not here!" 

Page Two Hundred and Ten 



|foiuus of JCHartfj 



Robert of Lincoln 
William CtJllen Bryant 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed, 
War to the nest of his little dame, 
( >ver the mountain side and mead, 

Robert of Lincoln is telling" his name: 
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Snug and safe is this nest of ours, 
Hidden among the summer flowers, 
Chee, chee, chee !" 

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, 

Wearing a bright, black, wedding-coat; 
White are his shoulders, and white his crest, 
Hear him call in his merry note, 
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Look what a nice new coat is mine ; 
Sure, there was never a bird so fine. 
Chee, chee. chee !" 

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, 

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, 
Passing at home a patient life, 

Broods in the grass while her husband sings 
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link. 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Brood, kind creature; you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee !" 

Modest and shy as a nun is she ; 

One weak chirp is her only note; 
Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he, 
Pouring boasts from his little throat, 
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link. 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Never was I afraid of man. 
Catch me. cowardly knaves, if you can. 
Chee, chee, chee !" 

Six white eggs on a bed of hay. 
Flecked with purple, a pretty sight, 

There, as the mother sits all day, 
Robert is singing with all his might : 

Page Two Hundred and Eleven 



Querns of JUortlj 



"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Nice good wife that never goes out, 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 
Chee, chee, chee !" 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell, 

Six wide mouths are open for food ; 
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. 
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chee, chee, chee !" 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made 

Sober with work, and silent with care, 
Off his holiday garments laid, 
Half forgotten that merry air, 
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nobody knows but my mate and I, 
Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee !" 

Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows, 
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; 
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : 
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
When you can pipe that merry old strain, 
Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 
Chee, chee, chee !" 



The Chicken's Mistake 

Phoebe Cary 

A little downy chicken one day 

Asked leave to go on the water, 
Where she saw a duck with her brood at play, 

Swimming and splashing about her. 

Indeed, she began to peep and cry, 
When her mother wouldn't let her : 

"If ducks can swim there, why can't I; 
Are they any bigger or better?" 

Page Two Hundred and Twelve 



•jloema of JIUortlj 



Thai the old hen answered, "Listen to me, 

And hush your foolish talking; 
Just luok at your feet and you will see 
They were only made for walking." 

Hut chicky wistfully eyed the brook, 

And didn't half believe her, 
For she seemed to say by a knowing look, 

"Such Morics couldn't deceive her." 

And as her mother was scratching the ground, 

'She muttered lower and lower, 
"1 know 1 can go there and not get drowned, 
And so I think I'll show her." 

Then she made a plunge where the stream was deep, 

And saw too late her blunder; 
For she hadn't hardly time to peep 

'Jill her foolish head went under. 

And now I hope her fate will show 

The child, my story reading, 
That those who are older sometime know 

What you will do well in heeding. 

That each content in his place should dwell, 

And envy not his brother; 
And any part that is acted well 

Is just as good as another. 

For we all have our proper sphere below, 

And this is a truth worth knowing: 
You will come to grief if you try to go 

Where you never were made for going. 



Poor Little Clouds 

(Selected) 

Four little clouds went racing 
Along through the air one day, 

The sun they had left at noontide. 
The west was a league away. 

"Oh, he is so slow," they murmured, 
"So slow and so far behind. 

We could be first at sunset 
If we only had a mind." 



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^oema of pJoril] 



They tossed their heads in triumph 
They took hold of hands and flew, 

And, oh, what a sad disappointment 
They afterwards felt and knew. 

For this they had quite forgotten 
As they hurried along through the air, 

There never could be a sunset 
Till the sun himself 'was there. 



The Heart of a Seed 

(Selected) 

In the heart of a seed, 
Buried deep, so deep, 
A dear little plant lay fast asleep. 
"Awake," said the sunshine, 
And creep to the light." 

"Awake," said the voice 

Of the raindrop bright, 

The little plant heard 

And rose to see 

What this beautiful outside world might be. 



The First Snow Drop 

Julia M. Dana 

"I want to get up," the Snowdrop said, 
As she loosened the wraps about her head, 
"It may be the world is white with snow, 
Yet I'd rather be there than here below. 
'Tis horrid to be curled up so tight — 
I want to look out and see the light. 

"My dear little sisters are fast asleep, 
And I am the first to take a peep 
Out of my bed, where, snugly rolled, 
I slept in warm blankets, fold on fold. 
But now I am ever so wide awake, 
And it's surely time for the morn to break. 

Page Two Hundred and Fourteen 



^jJoems of ptarth, 



"My dress is the prettiest e'er was seen; 
Tis white, with an overskirt of green, 
With six pretty silken cords that hold 
As many tiny tassels of gold. 
Oh! I have been working, never fear, 
To look my best when 1 do appear, 

"And I must welcome the song-birds home, 
There seems such a stirring all around, 
And I hear new voices above the ground. 
The buds on the willows are whispering, "Come," 
I his is the message they bring, I guess, 
( let up, little maid ; it is time to dress." 



At Easter Time 

Laura E. Richards 

The little flowers came through the ground, 

At Easter time, at Easter time; 
They raised their heads and looked around, 

At happy Easter time. 
And every pretty bud did say, 

"Good people, bless this holy day, 
For Christ is risen, the angels say 

At happy Master time!" 

The pure white lily raised its cup 
\t Easter time, at Easter time; 
The crocus to the sky looked up 

At happy Easter time. 
"We'll hear the song of Heaven!" they say, 

"Its glory shines on us today. 
Oh ! may if shine on us always 

At holy Easter time !" 

Twas long and long and long ago, 

That Easter time, that Easter time ; 
But still the pure white lilies blow 

At happy Easter time. 
And still each little flower doth say, 

"Good Christians, bless this holy day, 
For Christ is risen, the angels say 

At blessed Easter time!" 

Page Two Hundred and Fifteen 



Poems ai JHUorilj 
Three Little Trees 

(Selected) 

Away out in the orchard in sunshine and breeze, 

A-laughing and whispering, grew three little trees. 

And one was a plum tree, and one was a pear, 

And one was a rosy-cheeked apple tree rare. 

A dear little secret, as sweet as could be, 

The breeze told one day to the glad apple tree. 

She rustled her little green leaves all about, 

And smiled at the plum, and the secret was out. 

The plum told in whispers the pear by the gate, 

And she told it to me, so you see, it came straight. 

The breeze told the apple, the apple the plum, 

The plum told the pear, "Robin Redbreast has come!" 

And out in the orchard they danced in the breeze, 

And clapped their hands softly, these three little trees. 



An Arbor Day Tree 

(Selected) 

Dear little tree that we plant today, 
What will you be when we're old and gray ? 
"Tlie savings bank of the squirrel and mouse, 
For robin and wren an apartment house, 
The dressing-room of the butterfly's ball, 
The locust's and katydid's concert hall, 
The schoolboy's ladder in pleasant June 
The schoolgirl's tent in the July morn, 
And my leaves shall whisper them merrily 
A tale of the children who planted me." 



Come Away, Comrades 

Olive Lair Smith 

Come, my comrades, my playmates, all, 
Come to the elm tree ; hear my call ? 

Ya-he! Ya-hi ! Ya-ho! 
Under its branches grateful shade 
Is where the tip-top stories are made. 

Ya-he! Ya-hi! Ya-ho! 

We'll spin the yarn of the Bow- Wow- Wow, 
Of the Bunny-Rabbit and Bossy-Cow, 
We'll tell the tales of land and sea 

Page Two Hundred and Sixteen 



ijflocms of 33HortI| 



That grandfather told to you and me; 
And when the sun sinks into the west, 
We'll be crooning the rhymes that we love best. 
Ya-he! Ya-hi! Ya-ho! 

( )h. the grass is green and the air is sweet, 
And a tale told in the shade's a treat; 
Then come, my comrades, my playmates all, 
Come to the elm tree; hear my call? 
Ya-he! Ya-hi! Va-ho! 



The Fairies' Tea Party 

(SELECTED I 

Five little fairies went out to take tea 

Under the shade of a big elm tree, 

Each had a cup from an acorn cut, 

And a plate from the rind of a hickory nut. 

The table was spread with a cloth all of lace 
Woven by spiders the banquet to grace, 
And. oh. what good things they all had to eat 
Slices of strawberries, Mmm what a treat. 

And honey the sweetest that wild bees could hive, 
And a humming bird's egg for each of the five, 
Then they drank their hosts' health in their favorite drink, 
Which was, now, what was it, can any one think? 
Why, the dew drop, that comes from the heart of the 

rose 
Is the drink of the fairies, as evervone knows. 






Planting the Tree 

Grace I. Driver 

Here we leave you little tree, 
To Mother Earth's kind care; 

Yonr heritage will be 

The earth, the sky, the air. 

The birds will sing you lullabies, 
The wind your cradle be, 

And over you will smile the skies, 
You trustful little tree. 



Page Two Hundred and Seventeen 



■poems of JHUoritj 



Good Mother Earth will hold you, dear, 
And tuck your feet up warm, 

And whisper sturdy words of cheer 
When you must leave the storm. 

The little stars with kindly care 
Will smile all through the night 

And comfort you, so friendly wise 
Until the morning light. 

Now here we plant you, little tree, 
With loving heart and hand ; 

You are our hope for days to be, 
Our gift to our dear land. 

You will grow up some far-off day 
And guard with loving pride 

Our children's children at their play, 
And spread your great arms wide. 



Washington's Birthday 

Margaret E. Sangster 

'Tis splendid to live so grandly 

That long after you are gone, 
The things you did are remembered, 

And recounted under the sun ; 
To live so bravely and purely, 

That a nation stops on its way, 
And once a year, with banner and drum, 

Keeps its thought of your natal day. 

'Tis splendid to have a record 

So white and free from stain 
That, held to the light, it shows no blot, 

Though tested and tried amain ; 
That age to age forever 

Repeats its story of love, 
And your birthday lives in a nation's heart, 

All other days above. 

And this is Washington's glory, 

A steadfast soul and true, 
Who stood for his country's honor 
When his country's days were few. 

Page Two Hundred and Eighteen 



yunus nf lllnrtlt 



And now when its clays are many, 
And its flag of stars is flung 

To the breeze in defiant challenge, 
I lis name is on every tongue. 

Yes, it's splendid to live so bravely, 

To be so great and strong, 
That your memory is ever a tocsin 

To rally the foes of the wrong; 
To live so proudly and purely 

That your people pause in their way, 
And year by year, with banner and drum, 

Keep the thought of your natal day. 



Page Two Hundred and Nineteen 



Poems for Entertainment 



Mammy's Pickaninny 

Lucy Dean Jenkins 

Now, wha'h d'ye s'pose dat chile is? 

My, he's got a head ! 
He's hidin' frum his mammy 

Case it's time to go to bed. 

Hyah, you, Petah Johnsing ! 

Come inside dat fence. 
I done tole you yes'day 

You didn't hab no sense. 

What's dat? A waitin' fo' yo' daddy? 

Bless his little heart. 
Why chile, yo' daddy won't be comin' 

Froo dat woodsy part. 

At dis time of de ebenin' 

Don't you see dat moon? 
Dat's de sign dat spooks 

'LI be a trablin' soon. 

I believe I see 'em 

Coming — Massa me ! 
As sho as you is bo'n 

Dars one behind dat tree ! 

Ha! ha! I thought dat'd bring him; 

Come hyah sweety hon', 
Come to yo' ole mammy 

And if dose spookies come 

And want my pickaninny, 

I'll swat 'im in de face, 
I'll tak der flowin' garments 

And jes' wipe up de place. 

I'll take dat ai' bit u' hoe cake, 

An' hit 'im on de head, 
Till dey'll be glad to go away 

An' let my baby go to bed. 

Page Two Hundred and Twenty 



•{Joems of JHortff 



So don't cry no mo' my honey, 

Jes close yo' little eyes 
An mammv'll rock ye in her arms, 

And sing' dis lullaby. 

What's dat? Why chile! 

Dose spookies ain't a coming, 
Dey's gvvine off down the street. 

Now shut yo' eyes up tight 

An' go right off to sleep, 
An' tomorrow for yo' breakfast 

You'll hab possum for to eat. 

So don't cry no mo' my honey, 

Jes' close yo' little eye, 
While mammy rocks you in her arms 

An' sings dis lullaby. 

Lullaby, close yo' eye, 

Mammy's little dusky baby, 

Hush-a-bye, close yo' eye 
Mammy's HI' baby boy. 
T'en hush-a-bye. 



Sister's Best Fellow 

Joe Lincoln 

My lister's best feller is most six foot three. 

And handsome and strong, as a feller can be; 

And Sis, she's so little and slender and small 

You never would think she could boss him at all 

But by jing! she don't do a thing 

Rut make him jump around, like he worked with a string. 

It just makes me 'shamed of him sometimes, you know, 

To think that he'll let a girl bully him so. 

les to walk with her and carries her muff, 
And coat and umbrella, and that kind of stuff; 
She loads him with things that must weigh most a ton, 
And honest he likes it as if it was fun. 
And. oh, say! when they go to play. 
He'll sit in the parlor and fidget away, 
And she won't conic down till it's quarter past eight. 
And then she'll scold him 'cause they get there so late. 

Page Two Hundred and Twenty-One 



^Jtoems of JUJarilj 



He spends heaps of money abuying her things, 

Like candy and flowers, and presents and rings, 

And all he's got for 'em's a handkerchief case, 

A fussed up affair made of ribbons and lace, 

But my land ! He thinks it's just grand 

" 'Cause she made it," he says, "with her own little hand. 

He calls her "an angel," I heard him, and "saint" 

And "beautifulest bein' on earth," but she ain't. 

Before I go on a errand for her any time, 

I just make her coax me and give me a dime. 

But that great big silly, why honest and true, 

He'd run forty miles if she wanted him to. 

Gee Whiz ! I'll tell you what 'tis 

I just think it's awful, those actions of his, 

I won't have a girl when I'm grown — no-sir-ee; 

My sister's best feller's a warning to me. 



His New Brother 

Joe Lincoln 

Say, I've got a little brother, 
Never teased to have him, nother 

But he's here ; 
They just went ahead and bought him, 
And last week the doctor brought him; 

Wa'n't that queer? 

When I heard the news from Molly, 
Why, I thought at first 'twas jolly, 

'Cause, you see : 
I s'posed I could go and get him, 
An' then mamma 'course she would let him 

Play with me. 

But when I had once looked at him, 
"Why," I says, "My sakes ! Is that him? 

Just that mite?" 
They said "Yes," and "Ain't he cunnin?" 

He's a sight. 

He's so small, it's jest amazin', 
And you'd think that he was blazin', 

He's so red. 
And his nose is like a berry, 
And he's bald as Uncle Jerry 

On the head. 

Page Two Hundred and Twenty-Two 



•Poems of JlUortl] 



Why, he isn't worth a dollar; 
All he does is cry and holler, 

More and more. 
Won't sit up, you can't arrange him; 
I don't see why Pa don't change him 

At the store. 

Now we've got to dress and feed him, 
And we really didn't need him 

More'n a frog. 
Why'll they buy a baby brother 
When they know I'd good deal ruther 

Have a dog? 



The Minuet 

Mary Mapes Dodge 

Grandma told me all about it, 
Told me so I couldn't doubt it, 
How she danced, my grandma danced, 

Long ago. 
How her dainty skirt she spread, 
How she turned her little toes, 
How she slowly leaned and rose, 

Long ago. 

Bless her, why she wears a cap, 
Grandma does, and takes a nap 
Every single day, and yet, 
Grandma danced the minuet, 
Long ago. 

Now she sits there rocking, rocking, 
Always knitting grandpa's stocking, 
Every girl was taught to knit 

Long ago. 
Grandma's hair was bright and sunny, 
Dimpled cheeks, too ; ah, how funny, 
Really quite a pretty girl, 

Long ago. 

Yet her figure is so neat, 
And her way so staid and sweet, 
I can almost see her now, 
Bending to her pardner's bow, 
Long ago. 

Page Two Hundred and Twenty-Three 



ijjloems of piortl} 



Bravely modest, grandly shy, 
What if all of us should try 
Just to feel like those who met 
In the graceful minuet, 
Long ago. 

Grandma says our modern jumping, 
Hopping, rushing, whirling, bumping, 
Would have shocked the gentle folk 

Long ago. 
No, they moved with stately grace, 
Everything in proper place, 
Gliding slowly, forward then, 
Slowly courtesying back again, 

Long ago. 

In time to come if I perchance 
Should tell my grandchild of our dance, 
I should really like to say, 
We did it, dear, i"n some such way, 
Long ago. 



At Candle-Lightin' Time 

Paul Laurence Dunbar 

When I come in f'om de co'n-fiel' aftah wo'kin ua'd all 

day, 
It's amazin' nice to fin' my suppah all erpon de way ; 
An' it's nice to smell de coffee bubblin' ovah in de pot, 
An' it's fine to see de meat a-sizzlin' teasin'-lak an' hot. 

But when suppah-time is ovah, an' de t'ings is cleared 

away; 
Den de happy hours dat f oiler are de sweetes' of de day. 
When my co'ncob pipe is sta'ted, an' de smoke is drawin' 

prime, 
My ole 'ooman says, "I reckon, Ike, it's candle-lightin' 

time." 

Den de chillun snuggle up to me, an' all commence to 

call, 
"Oh, sav, daddv, now it's time to mek de shadders on de 

wall." 
So I puts my han's togethah — evah daddy knows de 

way, — 
An' the chillun snuggle closer roun' ez I begin to say: 

Page Two Hundred and Twenty-Four 



Querns of P^art!] 



M Fus" thing, hyeah come Mistah Rabbit ; don' you see him 
wo'k his calls? 

Huh. uh! dis mus' be a donkey, - look, how innercent he 

'pears ! 
Dah's de ole black swan a-swimmhV — ain't she got an 

awful neck ? 
Who'- dis feller (kit's a-coniin'? Why, dat's ole dog Tray, 

1 'spec'!" 

Dat's de way 1 run on, tryin' fu' to please 'em all I can; 
Den I hollahs, "Now be keerful — dis hyeah las' 's de 

bugaman !" 
An' dey runs an' hides dey faces; dey ain't skeered — dey's 

lettin on, 
hut de play ain't raaly ovah twell dat bugaman is gone. 

So I jes' teks up my banjo, an' I plays a little chune, 
An' you see dem haids come peepin' out to listen mighty 

soon. 
Den my wife says "Sich a pappy fu' to give you sich a 

fright! 
Jes, you go to baid, an' leave him ; say yo' prayers an' say 

good-night." 



When We Haven't Said Our Prayers 

Paul Bliss 

Me and my brother Jimmy, we go to be at night . 

With all the windows fastened and all the doors shut 

tight! ... , 

It gets a little stuffy, but neither of us cares. 
We hear such awful noises, when we haven't said our 

prayers. 

When the wind's ablowin' ; oh ! goodness ! gracious ! me ! 
You never can imagine the dreadful things we see! 
The moon looks through the window, and stares, and 

stares, and stares 
Just like a ghost or something when we haven't said our 

prayers. 

Then when the wind gets quiet, ( 1 know you'll think it 

queer) 
Oh. my! the awful noises that me and Jimmy hear! 
Such slippy, sliddy footsteps come sneakin' up the stairs 
An' prowl around the landin', when we haven't said our 

prayers. 

Page Two Hundred and Twenty-Five 



^oems of JUfortfj 



Last night when we were lyin' ashiverin' in bed, 

An' I got the covers all up around my head, 

I grabbed aholt of Jimmy and kind-a squeezed his hand 

An' says to him, "Tomorrow, we'll pray to beat the band !' 



The Patch-Work Quilt 

Natalin Whitted Price 
(From Sketches in Lyric Prose and Verse) 

Did gran 'ma ever tell you about the patch-work quilt, 

That lies across the sofa in her room? 
It is made from scraps of dresses that she wore when she 
was young, 

And some of them were woven on a loom, 
Sometimes when it is raining and I can't play out of 
doors, 

She lets me spread it out upon the floor, 
And as I choose the pieces — Pd like to hear about, 

She tells me of the dresses that she wore. 

It isn't just the dresses that gran'ma tells about, 

It's the things that happened when she had them on, 
And almost ev'ry piece that's in that dear old patch-work 
quilt, 

Holds the mem'ry of a sorrow or a song, 
Oh, things were very wonderful when gran'-ma-ma was 
young, 

You ought to hear her tell about it all, 
The ladies all were beautiful, the children all were good, 

And the men were all so gallant and so tall. 

She calls the quilt her mem'ry bed, and every little piece, 

Is a flower blooming in its scented fold. 
There are red ones for the roses, and blues for "don't 
forget's" 

And yellow ones for sunflowers of gold, 
There's one she calls sweet lavender that smells like baby 
clothes, 

And one of purple like the sunset skies, 
I never ask about these, or the grey one like the rain, 

For when I do dear gran'ma always cries. 

My gran'ma told me once that life is just a patch- work 
quilt, 
Of births and deaths and marriages and things 

Page Two Hundred and Twenty-Six 



•jjJoems uf Hi ruth 



And that sometimes when you're looking for a lovely 
piece of red, 
You only find a knot of faded strings, 
Bui she says the red is redder when it's hy a piece of 
brown, 
And grey is not so grey by sunny gold, 
Oh, 1 hope I'll have a lovely patch-work quilt like 
gran'-ma-ma's, 

To show to little children when I'm old. 



Jane Jones 

Ben King 

Jane Jones, she keeps talking to me all the whole time, 

She says you must make it a rule 
To study your lessons and work hard and learn 

And never he absent from school. 
Jus' look at the story of Elihu Burnett, 

And how he climbed up to the top. 
Got all the learning he ever had 

Down in a blacksmithy shop. 
Jane Jones, she honestly says that's so; 

Maybe it is — I don't know. 
' Of course, what's keepin' me from the top 

Is never havin' had no blacksmith shop. 

Jane Jones, she says Ben Franklin was awfully poor 

But full of ambition and brains; 
He studied philosophy all his whole life, and see 

What he got for his pains. 
He dragged 'lectricity down from the sky, 

With a kite and a bottle and key, 
An' we're owin' him more than anyone else 

For all the bright lights we see. 
Jane Jones, she honestly says it's so — 

Maybe it is — I don't know. 
( )f course, what's always hinderin' me — 

Is not having no kite, ner lightnin', ner key. 

Jane Junes, she says Abe Linkun had no looks at all, 

And used to split rails when a boy; 
She says 'at Gen, Grant was a farmer by trade 

An' lived way out in Illinois, 
But when the grand war with the south broke out 

lie stood on the side of the right, 

Page Two Hundred and Twenty-Seven 



^Wms of piortlj 



And when Linkun called him to take care of things, 

He won nearly every blamed fight. 
Jane Jones, she honestly says that's so — 

Maybe it is — I don't know. 
I'm not to blame — not by a big sight — 

I never had no battles to fight. 

Jane Jones says Columbus was out at the knees 

When he first thought up his big scheme; 
He told all the Italians and Spaniards, too, 

And all of them said 'twas a dream. 
But Queen Isabella just listened to him, 

And sold all her jewels of worth, 
And bought him the Santa Marie and said — 

"Go hunt up the. rest of the earth." 
Jane Jones, she honestly said that's so — 

Maybe it is — I don't know. 
Of course, that might be, but then we'll allow 

There ain't any more land to discover just now. 



The Doll's Wooing 

Eugene Field 

The little French doll was a dear little doll, 
Tricked out in the sweetest of dresses, 

Her eyes were of hue 

A most delicate blue 
And dark as night were her tresses ; 
Her dear little mouth was fluted and red, 
And this little French doll was so very well bred 
That whenever accosted her little mouth said, 

"Mamma, Mamma." 

The stockinet doll with one arm and one leg, 
Had once been a handsome young fellow, 

But now he appeared 

Rather frowsy and bleared 
In his torn regimentals of yellow ; 
Yet his heart gave a curious thump as he lay 
In the little toy cart near the window one day 
And heard the sweet voice of that French dolly say, 

"Mamma, Mamma." 

He listened so long and he listened so hard 
That anon he grew ever so tender, 
For it's everywhere known 

That the feminine tone 

Page Two Hundred and Twenty-Eight 



■jiWma of ^HUortl] 



away with all masculine gender, 
Me up and he wooed her with soldierly zest 
But all she'd reply to the love he professed 
Wire these plaintive words (which perhaps you have 
guessed ). 

"Mamma, Mamma." 

Her mother, a sweet little lady of five — 
Vouchsafed her parental protection, 

And although stockinet 

Wasn't blueblooded, yet 
She really could make no objection. 
So soldier and dolly were wedded one day, 
And a moment ago, as I journeyed that way, 
I'm sure that I heard a wee baby voice say, 

"Mamma, Mamma." 



Seein , Things 

Eugene Field 

I ain't afeard uv snakes or toads, or bugs, or worms, or 

mice, 
An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice ; 
I'm pretty brave, I guess ; an' yet I hate to go to bed, 
For when I'm tucked up warm and snug and when my 

prayers are said, 
Mother tells me, "Happv dreams," and takes away the 

light, 
An leaves me Kin' all alone an' seein' things at night. 

Sometimes they're in the corner, sometimes they're by the 

door, 
Sometimes they're all astandin' in the middle of the floor, 
Sometimes they, are asittin' down, sometimes they're 

walkin' round, 
So softly and so creepylike, they never make a sound; 
Sometimes they are as black as ink. an' other times they're 

white — 
Bui the color ain't no difference when you see things at 

night. 

< hKc, when I licked a fellow 'at had just moved on our 
street. 

\n' father sent me up to bed without a bite to eat. 
I woke up in the dark an' saw things standin' in a row. 

Mookin' at me cross-eyed and ap'intin' at me 0, 

Oh, my! 1 was so skeered thai time I never slept a mite, 
ft's almost always when I'm had I see things at night. 

Page Two Hundred and Twenty-Nine 



•jJJoems of JKUorilf 



Lucky thing I ain't a girl, or I'd be skeered to death, 
Bein' I'm a boy, I duck my head an' hold my breath; 
An', oh, I am so sorry I'm a naughty boy, an' then 
I promise to be better an' I say my prayers again, 
Gran'ma tells me that's the only way to make it right 
When a feller has been wicked an' sees things at night 

An' so when other naughty boys would tempt me into sin, 
I try to squash the Tempter's voice 'at urges me within; 
An' when they's pie for supper, or cakes, 'at's big an' nice, 
I want to — but I do not pass my plate f'r them things 

twice, 
No, ruther let Starvation wipe me slowly out o' sight 
Than I should keep alivin' on an' seein' things at night. 



Jest Tore Christmas 

Eugene Field 
Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, 
Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill, • 
Mighty glad I ain't a girl — ruther be a boy, 
Without them sashes, curls and things that's worn by 

Fauntleroy, 
Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake, 
Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache, 
'Most all the time the whole year round, there ain't no 

flies on me, 
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be. 

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat, 
First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at, 
Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide, 
'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride, 
But sometimes when the grocery man is worried an' cross 
He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss, 
An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me." 
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be. 

Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,* 
I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother Dan, 
'At was ate up by the cannibals that lives in Ceylon's Isle, 
Where every prospeck pleases, an' where only man is vile, 
But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show, 
Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd 

know 
That Buff'lo Bill an' cowboys is good enough for me, 
Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm as good as I kin be. 

Page Two Hundred and Thirty 



Itocms of jmHoril] 



And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemnlike an* 

still, 
Hi- cvts they keep a-savin'. "What's the matter, little 

Bill?" 
The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's 

become 
Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things 

hum, 
But I am so perlite and ten' so earnestly to biz, 
That mother says to father, "How improved our Willie 

is." 
Rut father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me, 
When jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be. 

For Christmas with its lots of candies, cakes and toys, 
Was made, they say, for proper kids, an' not for naughty 

boys. 
So wash yer face, an' brush yer hair, an' mind your 

p's and q's, 
An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out 

yer shoes. 
Say "Yessum" to the ladies, and "Yessur" to the men, 
An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie 

again, 
But, thinkin' of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree, 
Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as you kin be. 



A Christmas Kid 

(Selected) 

'Member once, long time ago, 'most a month, I guess, 
Gran 'ma says, "Would you want more pie?" an' course I 

tol' her "yes." 
'En pa says, "Gran'ma, don't you know the chil' has had 

two slices 
'Sides the fruit and pudding an' a help or two of ices?" 
So I didn't get no more, an' then I wisht, I did, 
That I could be a man an' eat, instead of just a kid. 

'Member once, suppose it must of been the Fourth July, 
Pa was shootin' rockers off clear up to the sky, 
An' ma says, "You mustn't let the child, he'll burn him- 
self to death," 
An' pa says, "Too bad, son, but we must walk the way 

we're' bid !" 
An' then I wisht I was a man 'stead of just a kid. 

Page Two Hundred and Thirty-One 



"Poems of JH9ortlj 



'Member once a great big feller took away my sled, 
Hit me right here, on the nose, an' it bled 'n' bled. 
He was most the biggest boy I bet you ever see — 
Reg'lar giunt he was — twicst as big as me, 
An' ever' time he passed our house, I run away and hid, 
An' wisht I was a giunt, too, instead of just a kid. 

'Member lots o' times I wisht 'at I could be growed up, 
An' drink real tea f er supper out o' pa's big mustache cup, 
An' have a nickel for my ownself ever' single day, 
With no one savin', "Course it's yours, but lemme put it 

'way," 
An' no one askin' where I am an' what it was I did, 
But Christmas time I'm glad I ain't a man, but just a kid. 

'Member last year Christmas how old Santa come an, 

brought, 
Such a stack I couldn't tell half the things 1 got, 
A railroad, an' a jumping frog, a wagon, and a goat, 
An' ma, she only got a di'mon' brooch an' sealskin coat, 
O, yes, I got some club skates, too, an' went right out an' 

slid, 
An' was so glad I wasn't growed, but only just a kid. 

'Member once, one Christmas pa he fetched some things 

fer ma, 
An' ma had went down town an' bought some other 

things fer pa, 
An' they give them to each other, an' I was so sorry 'cause 
It showed that they was bad, an' dassent have no Santa 

Claus. 
It almost makes me cry sometimes awonderin' what they 

did, 
An' ain't I glad I ain't growed up, but only just a kid. 



The Dead Doll 

(Selected) 

You needn't be trying to comfort me, 

I tell you my dolly is dead ! 
There's no use in saying she isn't 

With a crack like that in her head, 
It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt 

Much to have my tooth out that day, 
And then when the man 'most took my head off, 

You hadn't a word to say. 

Page Two Hundred and Thirty-Two 



jjfoentB uf llUirtli 



And I guess y<»u must think I'm a baby, 

And when you say you can mend it with glue, 
A> it I didn't know better than that, 

Why just SUppOSe it was yon; 
Yon might make her look all mended, 

But what do 1 care for looks. 
Why glue is for chairs and tables, 

And toys «md the backs of books. 

.\J\ dolly, my own little daughter, 

( )h. but it's the aw fullest crack, 
It just makes me sick to think 

Of the sound when her poor little head went whack, 
Against that horrible brass thing, 

That holds up the little shelf, 
Now nursey, what makes you remind me? 

I know that I did it myself. 

1 think you must be crazy. 

You'd get her another head? 
What good would forty heads do her? 

I tell you my dolly is dead. 
And to think I hadn't quite finished 

Her elegant new spring hat. 
And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night 

To tie on that horrid cat. 

When my mamma gave me that ribbon, 

I was playing out in the yard 
And she said to me most expressly 

"Here's a ribbon for Hildegarde." 
And I went and put it on Tabby, 

And Hildegarde saw me do it, 
But I said to myself, "Oh, never mind, 

I don't believe she knew it." 

But 1 know that she knew it now, 

And I just believe, I do, 
That her poor little heart was broken, 

And so her head broke, too, 
( )h, my baby, my own little daughter, 

I wish my head had been hit, 
For I've hit it over and over, 

And it hasn't cracked a bit. 

But since the darling is dead 

She'll have to be buried, of course, 

Page Two Hundred and Thirty-Three 



^jjocms of JHortrj 



We will take my little wagon, nurse, 
And you shall be the horse, 

And I'll walk behind and cry and cry, 
And we'll put her in this, you see, 

This dear little box, and we'll bury her 
Under the maple tree. 



And papa will make me a tombstone 

Like the one he made for my bird, 
And he'll put what I tell him on it, 

Yes, every single word, 
I shall say, "Here lies Hildegarde, 

A beautiful doll who is dead, 
She died of a broken heart, 

And a dreadful crack in her head." 



Dolly's Complaint 

Anonymous 

A little china doll, and'a little rag doll, 

And a dolly imported from France, 
Were seated one day on the shelf of a store, 

With a doll that could wind up and dance, 
When all of a sudden the shop-keeper heard 

A scream that rang out through the store, 
And this was the wail of that little China doll 

As she made such an awful uproar. 

I've got a pain in my saw-dust, 

That's what's the matter with me, 
Something's all wrong with my little insides, 

I'm just as sick as can be. 
Oh, don't let me faint, someone get me a fan, 

And someone else run for the medicine man, 
And everyone hurry as fast as you can, 

'Cause I've got a pain in my saw-dust. 

They took her away in a hospital van, 

And the whole town was filled with the blues, 
For everyone thought, it was quite an odd thing, 

And the papers all printed the news. 
The surgeons looked wise, and they all shook their 
heads, 

And asked her "Just where she was sick?" 
"Oh, I think it's appendisaw-dust," she exclaimed, 

"And won't you please do smething quick?" 

Page Two Hundred and Thirty-Four 



|Ioems of -Horilt 



Oh, sad was the day for the little china doll, 

For they took all her stitches away, 
And looked for the seat of that terrible ache, 

'Twas a delicate task, they all say, 
For none of the surgeons had ever before 

Performed on a dolly's insides, 
They tried to re-stuff her, but didn't know how, 

.And this was her wail as she died. 

Oh, I've got a pain in my saw-dust, 

That's what's the matter with me, 
Something's all wrong with my little insides, 

I'm just as sick as can be, 
Don't let me faint, someone get me a fan, 

Someone else run for a medicine-man, 
And everyone hurry as fast as you can, 

'Cause I've got a pain in my saw-dust. 



The Janitor's Child 

Anonymous 

We live in a big apartment house, 

With eighteen elevators, 
And butlers, maids, and chauffeurmen, 

And fifteen million waiters 
You can't slide down the banister 

Nor play jacks on the floor, 
Ma says, "It's very elegant," 

But I like the house next door, 
'Cause there's a little girl 

Lives over there, she's just as big as me, 
She's got the grandest yellow dog 

And a kitten full of fleas, 
She rides upon the dumb waiter 

And don't wear fussed-up clothes, 
You see her pa is a janitor, 

And goodness only knows. 

I wish my pa was a janitor man, 

Then I could run for milk in a nice tin can, 
Sample all the goodies that the grocer brings, 

Dig into the ash can and find good things ; 
I wouldn't have to ride in a stuffy autobeel, 

For an ice wagon ride I am wild ; 
Oh, why was I born with a broker for a pa? 

When I want to be a janitor's child. 

Page Two Hundred and Thirty-Five 



^floems of piortrj 



We go to Europe once a year 

But the little girl next door, 
Goes to Coney Island once a week 

And sometimes more. 
I have to eat what's good for me, 

My milk is pasteurized, 
My bread comes rolled in paper, 

And my eggs are scandalized, 
My nurse is antiseptic, 

And my clothes are hard and firm ; 
When I grow up to be eighteen 

I'm a-going to eat a germ. 

I wish my pa was a janitor man, 

Then I could run for milk in a nice tin can, 
Sample all the goodies that the grocer brings, 

Dig into the ash can and find good things ; 
I wouldn't have to ride in a stuffy autobeel, 

For an ice wagon ride I am wild; 
Oh, why was I born with a broker for a pa? 

When I want to be a janitor's child. 



The Boyless Town 

Anonymous 
A cross old woman of long ago, 

Declared that she hated noise ; 
"The town would be so pleasant, 

You know, if only there were no boys." 

She scolded and fretted about it till 

Her eyes were heavy as lead, 
And then, of a sudden, the town grew still, 

For all of the boys had fled. 

And all through the long dusty street, 

There wasn't a boy in view, 
The baseball lot where they used to meet, ' 

Was a sight to make one blue. 

The grass was growing on every base 
And the paths that the runners made, 

For there wasn't a soul in all the place 
Who knew how the game was played. 

The cherries rotted and went to waste — 
There was no one to climb the trees, 

And nobody had a single taste, 
Save only the birds and the bees. 

Page Two Hundred and Thirty-Six 



•Jlocma of JBflorib; 



There wasn't a messenger-boy, not one — 
To speed such as messengers can; 

If the people wanted their errands done 
They sent for a messenger-man. 

There was little 1 ween, 

i If frolic and mirth ; 
The sad old town since it lacked its boys 

Was the dreariest place on earth ; 

The poor old woman began to weep, 

Then she awoke with a sudden scream, 
"hear me," she cried, "I have been asleep, 
And, oh, what a horrid dream!" 



Naughty Zell 

(Selected) 

1 'spect you folks think 1 don't look 

So pretty in this dress, 

I don't think I do neither, 

It 's about the worstest dress I've got, 

I could have better clothes if I wanted them, 

But I don't want them, though, 

lint it's better than Maggie's new Sunday one, 

My father's got so much money, 

He could just burn it if he wanted to, 

But he don't want to though. 

1 bet you don't know who Kip is. 

He's my beau ; every night last summer 

We used to sit behind the rain barrel 

Watching my sister and her sweetheart 

Sparking in the hammock, until we got 

Sparking down to a pretty fine point I tell you, 

So when we got big we'd know how. 

The other day 1 was walking down the street 

And I heard some folks talking about me, 

And they says, "There goes the prettiest girl 

In town," and they meant me. 

Some folks think I can speak so awful good, 

I don't think I can though. 

But if you want me to I'll speak the piece 

I spoke for ma's company the other day, 

And this is the way I said it ; 

Page Two Hundred and Thirty-Seven 



Poems of Jifrortfy 



"Mary had a little lamb, 
Its fleece was white as snow, 
And every where that Mary went 
The lamb was sure to go." 
I 'spect you folks don't think that was very 
Good speaking. I don't think it is neither. 
It's just about the worstest speaking I can do. 
I guess I better go and change my dress, 
This is about the worstest dress I've got, 
I could haye better clothes if I wanted them, 
But I've got more sense than to ask for 
What I know I can't get ! 



A Boy's Conclusion 

(Selected) 

She wuz a old maid, Aunt Sue wuz ; 

She never had any little boys 
Er girls like mos' of woman does. 

I guess she didn't like the noise 
And bother that a baby brings, 

And so God didn't send her none 
But let them stay and wear their wings, 

I bet they have a lot of fun ! 
I've got a baby brother there, 

And he's got wings, and, if I'm good, 
I'm goin' to die and have a pair 

Sometime, 'cause mamma said I should. 

When Aunt Sue was a girl, ma said, 

She had a beau like sister Bess, 
He went to the war, and come home dead, 

And that's all 'at saved her I guess, 
'Cause, if he hadn't lost his life, 

He would a' come back after her, 
And she'd a had to be his wife 

And go with him just everywhere! 
I'd think she'd a-been awful glad. 

Because he didn't come back, but died; 
But stead of that it made her sad, 

And mamma said she went and cried. 

And mamma said a long, long while 
After her beau wuz dead, Aunt Sue 

Jest moped around and wouldn't smile, 
Until they thought that she'd die, too, 

Page Two Hundred and Thirty-Eight 



|Jocms of JBUnrth 



But stead of dying she kept on, 

And turned out to be an old maid, 
Just because the other beau was gone, 

She wouldn't have no more, she said. 
1 pity Aunt Sue; but I can't 

Help be glad 'at her beau died, 
'Cause I wouldn't have an old maid aunt 

If she'd a been that feller's bride. 

1 like Aunt Sue, her ginger cakes 

Are better'n what we have at home, 
They're sweeter'n them my mamma makes, 

And she mos' always brings me some ; 
And she's got lots of books and cats, 

And a little dog, and she doesn't care, 
flow much I play with them, and that's 

Why 1 like so much to go down there. 
Old maids are nice; when I'm a man, 

If I don't live a single life, 
But marry someone, it's my plan 

To have an old maid for my wife. 



Cookin' Things 

Burges Johnson 

When my mother's cookin' things, 

You bet I never wait 

To put away my ball er gun, 

I drop 'em where they are an' run 

Fer fear I'll be too late. 

The most excitin' kind of game, 

Er toy, er story book, 

I let 'em go, an' never mind, 
The very minute that I find 

My mother's goin' to cook. 

When my mother's cookin' things, 

Then you just* oughter smell 

The spices an' the sweets an' such, 
My mouth gets waterin' so much 

I almost have to yell. 

She opens up the oven door 

Sometimes, to take a look, 
An' then I jab 'em while they're hot, 
To see if they are done or not, 

When mother lets me cook. 

Page Two Hundred and Thirty-Xine 



IJoema at Jilortfy 



When my mother's cookin' things, 
P'r'aps it's pies to bake, 

Er doughnuts bobbin' up and down 

In boilin' grease till they are brown, 
Er p'r'aps it's johnny-cake. 
Whatever kind of things it is, 
I always like to hook 

The biggest piece of dough I can 

An' bake it in a petty-pan, 
When me an' mother cook. 

When my mother's cookin' things, 

It pays you if you wait 

An' eat 'em hot, right off the tin, 
It's twice as good as anything 

Could be, et off a plate. 

An' I guess you'd find out fer sure 

That I was not mistook, 

In any single thin' I've said, 

If you could taste the ginger bread, 

I've helped my mother cook. 



Was You Ever Spanked? 

Burges Johnson 
W T as you ever spanked ? I ain't sorry a bit 
I scratched at my brother an' hollered and spit, 
Then they pulled me away and I kicked and I yanked, 
Was you ever spanked? 

Was you ever spanked? The times I've been good, 
Why, nobody's cared, an' I ain't understood, 
If I die, they have only themselves to be thanked, 
Was you ever spanked? 



At the Zoo 

Selected 
It must be hard for a porcupine 

To dress when the day begins, 
I'm glad there aren't any clothes 

Of mine a-needing so many pins. 

But when I've been saucy and horrid, too, 
Or up to some naughty prank, 

If I could only wear clothes like you 
I'd be awfully hard to spank. 

Page Two Hundred and Forty 



■jLWms of Iflnrtlt 



My Sore Thumb 

BURGES JOH XSox 

I jabbed a jack knife in my thumb — 
I'll' blood just spurted when it conic, 
The conk gol taint, an' nurse she yelled 
An' showed me how it should he held, 
An' gran 'ma went to get a rag, 
An' couldn't find one in the bag; 
An' all the rest was just struck dumb 
e my thumb. 

Since I went an' jabbed my thumb 
I go around adookin' glum, 
And aunt, she pats me on the head 
An' gives me extra ginger-bread; 
But brother's mad, an' says. "He'll go 
An' take an' axe. an' chop his toe; 
An' then he guesses I'll keep mum 
Vbout my thumb — " 

At school they as 't to sec my thumb. 
But 1 just showed it to my chum, 
An' any else that wants to see, 
Must divey up their cake with me, 
It's gettin' well so fast, I think 
I'll fix it up with crimsom ink, 
An' that'll keep up int'rest some 
In my poor thumb. 



If I Was Er Horse 

BURGES JOHNSON 

'K 1 was er horse I'd hate to wear 

A collar what didn't fit, 
An' blinder things, an' I wouldn't care 

To chew on a iron bit. 
It ain't a way 'at I'd wanter live 
To jus' go everywhere I was driv'. 

'F I was er horse, I guess you'd see 
I'd run away pretty quick, 

I'd tear my harness, an' wriggle free 

An' go where the grass was thick. 
I'd kick my heels, an' I'd neigh for joy, 
But I ain't er horse, I'm er little boy. 

Page Two Hundred and Forty-One 



^pnems of piorify 



Soap 

Burges Johnson 

The folks at my house half the time, 

Are thinking about dirt, 
It sort of gives them horrors, 

And they act as if it hurt. 
The sight of just a little 

Makes them daffy as can be — 
They're always washing something, 

And half of the time it's me. 

It isn't because I wet my feet, 

That gives me colds and such ; 
'Taint running round that keeps me thin, 

It's 'cause I'm washed so much. 
It does no good to tell them, 

They're so stubborn, but I hope 
That some day they'll discover 

What deceitful stuff is soap. 

I tell you, very often when my 

Hands was clean and white, 
I've gone along to wash them, 

'Cause it did no good to fight. 
When I've stuck 'em in the 'basin 

It was plain enough to see 
That the soap would make the water 

Just as dirty as could be. 

If folks would give me half a chance, 

With soap that didn't cheat,. 
I guess they'd be surprised to find 

I'm naturally quite neat. 
I'd take on flesh and leave off having 

Colds and such, I know. 
And no one could complain about 

The parts of me that show. 



Grandma Pays the Bill 

Selected 

Before the busy merchant, 

Stood pretty little Bess, 
"I want some cloth for dolly, 

Enough to make a dress." 

Page Two Hundred and Forty-Two 



ynntts uf ^i^'tl] 



"What color, little lady?" 

The pleasant dealer said; 
"Why don't you know," she answered, 

"1 want it awful red." 

He smiled and cut the fabric 

For the delightful little miss; 
"\\ hat does it cost?" she questioned, 

He answered, "Just one kiss." 
And then the clerks who heard her 

Went laughing up and down, 
"My grandma said she would pay you 

Next time she came up town." 



The Growing Indignity 

Wilbur D. Nesbit 

Just 'cause my brother Alfred, he 
Is two years oklerer 'an me, 
W'y ever 'thing he gets 'at's new 
They give to me when he gets through. 
J try my best to not to grow 
An' catch up with his old things so, 
But when he gets too big for clo'es, 
W'y I'm growed just exackly so's 
They'll do for me — an' then I've got 
To keep on wearin' 'em a lot ! 

My brother Alf red's pants just wait 
An' never get tored on th' gate, 
Or ripped on nails, or wored out none 
Until my catchin' up is done. 
When he gets new ones, my ma, she 
Says his old pants will do for me. 
An' Alfred grins, an' looks so glad 
It always makes me awful mad! 
An' 'at's th' way it always goes, 
I even get his underclo'es ! 

An' all th' boys at school they grin 
\t me when I come walkin' in. 
An' whisper when they get th' chance, 
"W'y. how-de-do to Alfred's pants!" 
An' let on like 'at's all they see, 

Page Two Hundred and Forty-Three 



Poems of pJorify 



An' like they never heard o' me. 
W'y, when I's little, Alfred's crib 
Was give' to me, an' Alfred's bib, 
An' Alfred's hobby-horse, an' swing, 
An' castor-oil, an' ever'thing! 

But now it's worse 'an ever ! I'm 

Just mad clean through and through this time. 

it's got to more 'an I can stand 

This gettin' his things secon'-hand ! 

An' I told ma 'at I think it 

Is pretty near th' time to quit. 

My brother Alfred, he's been sick 

With measles — he was speckled thick, 

But now he's through with them, you see, 

He's gone an' give 'em to me ! 



The Lost Baby 

(Selected) 

"I'm losted ! Could you find me please?" 

Poor little frightened baby ! 
The wind had loosed her golden flee'ce, 
The stones had scratched her dimpled knees. 
I stooped and lifted her with ease 

And softly whispered, "Maybe." 

"Tell me your name, my little maid," 

"I can't find you without it." 
"My name is Shiny-eyes," she said. 
"Yes, but your last name?" She shook her head. 
"Up to our house they never said 

A single thing about it." 

"But dear," I said, "What is your name?" 
"Why didn't you hear me told you! 

Dust Shiny-eyes." A bright thought came, 

"Yes, but dear, is it just the same 
When mamma has to scold you?" 

"My mamma never scolds," she moans, 

A little blush ensuing, 
" 'Cept when I've been a-frowin' stones, 
An' nen she says, "Mehitable Sophia Jones, 

What has you been a-doin' ?" 

Page Two Hundred and Forty-Four 



■jjJiuuns of ^ort!} 



When the Minister Comes to Tea 

i Author Unknown) 

Oh, they've swept the parlor carpets 

And they've dusted every chair, 
And they've got the tiddies hanging 

Just exactly on the square. 
And the what-nots fixed up lovely 

And the mats have all been beat, 
And the pantry's brimmin' over 

With bully things to eat. 

Sis has got her Sunday dress on 

And she's frizzin' up her bangs; 
Ma's got on her best alpaca, 

And she's askin' how it hangs. 
Pa's shaved as slick as can be, 

And I'm rigged way up in G 
And it's just because we're going to 

Have the minister to tea. 

Oh, the table's fixed up gaudy 

With the gilt-edged chiny set, 
And we're going to use the silver teapot 

And the company spoons, you bet. 
And we're going to have some fruitcake, 

And some thimbleberry jam, 
Riz biscuits and some doughnuts, 

Some chicken and some ham. 

And ma, she'll 'pologize like fury, 

And say everything is bad, 
And such awful luck in cookin' 

She's sure she never had. 
But, of course, she's only bluffin' 

For it's prime as prime can be. 
And she's only talkin' that way 

'Cause the minister's to tea. 

Everybody's smilin' 

And as good as ever twuz, 
Pa don't growl about the victuals 

Like he generally does. 
And he'll ask me ''Would I like 

Another piece of pie?" hut pshaw, 
That, of course, is only manners, 

And I'm supposed to answer "No." 



F'age Two Hundred and Forty-Five 



^0ema of piorilf 



Sis will talk about the church work 

And about the Sunday School, 
And ma'll go on to tell how she liked that sermon 

That was on the Golden Rule. 
And if I upset my tumbler, 

They don't say a word to me. 
Gee, a kid can eat in comfort 

When the minister's to tea. 

Say, a minister, you'd reckon, 

Never'd say what isn't true. 
Well, 'tain't so with ours, 

And I can prove it, too. 
'Cause when Sis plays on the organ, 

And it just makes you want to die, 
He just sits and says it lovely 

And it seems to me a lie. 

But I like him all the samey, 

And I only wish he'd come 
To our house for good and always, 

And eat with us every day. 
Just think of having goodies, 

Every evening, jiminy! 
And I wouldn't get a scolding 

When the minister's to tea. 



The Wiggly Waggly Polliwog 

(Selected) 

Oh, a wiggly little polliwog lived in a pool 
On the edge of a stream where the water was cool, 
Till one day he turned very green and pale, 
For he found that he surely was losing his tail, 
And legs were sprouting, and he caught the croup 
As he crawled up the bank with a hoarse "galoup, 
Cathump, calump, cachug, cachook!" 

"Oh, what can have happened?" he asked, with a croak 

"This seems like a regular bullfrog joke." 

Then he stretched his legs for a mighty jump 

And right in the water he landed, kaflump ! 

Which made him smile from ear to ear, 

For he felt so very delightfully queer, 

As he called to his wife, "I'm a frog, my dear, 

Cathump, calump, cachug, cachook!" 

Page Two Hundred and Forty-Six 



■jUurma of llUirtl] 



Ma and the Auto 

Edgak A. Guest 

•re we take an auto ride pa says to ma, "My dear. 
Now just remember I don't need suggestions from the 
rear, 

It" you will just sit still hack there and hold in check your 

fright, 
I'll take you where you want to go and get you hack all 
. right. 

Remember that my hearing's good and also I'm not blind, 
And I can drive this car without suggestions from be- 
hind." 

Ma promises that she'll keep still, then off we gayly start, 
lint soon she notices ahead a peddler and his cart. 
"You'd better toot your horn," says she, "to let him know* 

we're near ; 
He might turn out." and pa replies, "Just shriek at him, 

my dear." 
And then he adds, "Some day, some guy will make a lot 

of dough 
By putting horns on tonneau seats for women-folks to 

blow." 

A little farther on ma cries, "lie signalled for a turn," 
And pa says. "Did he?" in a tone that's hot enough to 

burn : 
"( )h, there's a hoy on roller skates," cries ma, "Now. do 

go slow, 
I'm -mre he doesn't see our car." And pa says, "I dunno. 
I think I don't need glasses yet, but really it may be 
That 1 am blind and cannot see what's right in front of 

me." 

If pa should >peed the car a hit, some rigs to hurrv past 
Ma whi>per>. "Do he careful now. You're driving much 

too fast." 
And all the time she's pointing out the dangers of the 

street 
And keeps him posted on the roads where trolley ears 

he'll meet. 
Last night when we got safely home, pa sighed and said. 

"My dear, 
I'm sure we've all enjoyed the drive you gave us from the 

rear." 

Page Two Hundred and Kortv-Seven 



•JJuents of JHJorilj 



Practising Time 

Edgar A. Guest 

Always whenever I want to play 

I've got to practice an hour a day, 

Get through breakfast an' make my bed, 

And mother says, "Marjorie, run ahead, 

There's a time for work and a time for fun, 

So go and get your practicing done." 

And Bud, he chuckles and says to me, 

"Yes, do your practicing, Marjorie," 

A brother's an awful tease, you know, 

And he just says that 'cause I hate it so. 

They leave me alone in the parlor there 
To play the scales or "The Maiden's Prayer," . 
' And if I stop, mother's bound to call, 
"Marjorie, dear, you're not playing at all; 
Don't waste your time, but keep right on, 
Or you'll have to stay when the hour is gone," 
Or maybe the maid looks in at me 
And says, "You're not playing, as I can see. 
Just hustle along — I've got work to do 
And I can't dust the room until you get through." 

Then when I've run over the scales and things, 

Like "The Fairies' Dance," or "The Mountain Springs,' 

And my fingers ache and my head is sore, 

I find I must sit there a half hour more. 

An hour is terribly long, I say, 

When you've got to practice and want to play. 

So slowly at times has the big hand dropped 

That I was sure that the clock had stopped. 

But mother called down to me, "Don't forget — 

A full hour please. It's not over yet." 

Oh, when I get big and have children, too, 

There's one thing that I will never do — 

I won't have brothers to tease the girls 

And make them mad when they pull their curls, 

And laugh at them when they've got to stay 

And practice their music an hour a day ; 

I won't have a maid like the one we've got, 

That likes to boss you around a lot; 

And I won't have a clock that can go so slow 

When it's practice time, 'cause I hate it so. 



Page Two Hundred and Forty-Eight 






•{Joeius of JUlorilj 



Castor Oil 

Edgar A. Guest 

I don't mind lickin's, now an' then, 
An' 1 can even stand it when 
My mother calls me in from play 
To run some errand right away. 
There's things 'bout bein' just a boy 
That ain't all happiness an' joy, 
But I suppose I've got to stand 
My share o' trouble in this land, 
An' 1 ain't kickin' much, but say, 
The worst of parents is that they 
Don't realize just how they spoil 
A feller's life with castor oil. 

Of all the awful stuff, Gee Whiz! 
That is the very worst there is, 
An' every time if I complain, 
Or say I've got a little pain, 
There's nothing else that they can think 
'Cept castor oil for me to drink. 
I notice, though, when pa is ill, 
That he gets fixed up with a pill, 
But when I've got a little ache, 
It's castor oil I've got to take. 

I don't mind goin' up to bed 

Afore I get the chapter read. 

I don't mind being scolded, too, 

For lots of things I didn't do ; 

But, Gee, I hate it when they say, 

"Come, swallow this — an' right away." 

Let poets sing about the joy 

It is to be a boy. 

I'll tell the truth about my case, 

The poets here can have my place, 

An' I will take a life of toil 

If they will take my castor oil. 



A Feller's Hat 

Edgar A. Guest 

It's funny 'bout a feller's hat — 
He can't remember where it's at, 
Or where he took it off, or when, 
The time he's wantin' it again. 



Page Two Hundred and Forty-Nine 



jjjlaems ai $&avti\ 



He knows just where he leaves his shoes; 
His sweater he won't often lose; 
An' he can find his rubbers, but 
He can't tell where his hat is put. 

A feller's hat gets anywhere. 
Sometimes he'll find it in a chair, 
Or on the sideboard, or maybe 
It's in the kitchen, just where he 
Gave it a toss beside the sink 
When he went in to get a drink, 
An' then forgot — but anyhow 
He never knows where it is now. 

A feller's hat is never where 
He thinks it is when he goes there. 
It's never any use to look 
For it upon a closet hook, 
'Cause it is always in some place 
It shouldn't be, to his disgrace, 
An' he will find it, like as not, 
Behind some radiator hot. 

A feller's hat can get away 
From him most any time of day, 
So he can't ever find it when 
He wants it to go out again. 
It hides in corners dark and grim 
An' seems to want to bother him ; 
It disappears from sight somehow — 
I wish I knew where mine is now. 



Bud Discusses Cleanliness 

Edgar A. Guest 

First thing in the morning, last I hear at night, 
Get it when I come from school, "My, you look a sight; 
Go up stairs this minute, an' roll your sleeves up high 
An' give your hands a scrubbing and wipe 'em till they're 

dry, 
Now don't stand there and argue, and never mind your 

tears, 
And this time please remember to wash your neck and 

ears." 

Page Two Hundred and Fifty 



;p0em0 of Ptartrj 



Can't see why ears grow on us, all crinkled like a shell, 
With lots of fancy carvings that make a feller yell 
Each time his ma digs in them to get a speck of dirt, 
Wlu-n plain ones would be easy to wash and wouldn't 

hurt, 
And I can't see the reason why every time Ma nears, 
She thinks she's got to send me to wash my neck and 

ears. 

1 never wash to suit her; don't think I ever will, 
If- 1 was white as sister, she'd call me dirty still, 
At night I get a scrubbing and go to bed, and then 
The first thing in the morning she makes me wash again. 
That strikes me as ridiklus; I've thought of it a heap. 
A feller can't get dirty when he is fast asleep. 

When I grow up to be a man like Pa, and have a wife 
And kids to boss around, you bet they'll have an easy life. 
We won't be at them all the time, the way they keep at 

me, 
And kick about a little dirt that no one else can see. 
And every night at supper time as soon as he appears, 
We will not send our boy away to wash his neck and ears. 



The Fidgets 

Strickland W. Gillilan 

I'm got th' fidgets ; when I go t' bed, 

( I sleep wif Billy), I ist scratch my head 

An' squirm around an' git th' covers mixed 

Till Billy says, "Aw, goo'ness sakes, git fixed." 

An' when I try t' tell him how it was. 

He says, "Aw, I'll git up an' slap your jaws." 

1 wake up in th' night most froze t' deff 
An' hear Bill savin' fings under his breff. 
'( "ause somehow all th' cover's on the floor, 
An' Bill says he won't sleep wif me no more — 
Dogged if he will, an' when he swears that way, 
I freaten 'at I'll tell our ma next day, 

Xen Billy he ist helps me snuggle down. 

An' tells me I'll be nicest bov in town 

Ef I shouldn't tell, an' when I say, "I won't" 

lie grits 'is teef an' says, "You better don't." 

I f theys a fidget doctor anywhere 

I'm goin' t'see him, if my ma don't care. 

Page Two Hundred and Fifty-One 



IJoema of JParitj 



The Crooked Window Pane 

Strickland W. Gillilan 

I been an' had the measles an' 

My mommy kep' me in. 
She said I might go blind, she did, 

An' never see agin'. 
So I ist stayed an' stayed an' stayed 

An' never cared a grain, 
Cause I had fun a-lookin' froo 

Our crooked winder pane. 

One way I bent my head an' looked, 

Our fence was awful tall; 
An' when I moved an' looked some more 

'Twas hardly there at all, 
'Nen stoopin' lower, I c'd make 

A treetop touch the sky — 
'Nen lookin' froo th' uver place, 

'Twas ist two inches high. 

An' people — they wuz funniest rings; 

For when they hurried past 
They all wuz tall and slim at first, 

An' dumpy at th' last, 
I'd holler out an' laugh my best, 

Till they'd look back to see, 
An' nen go on, a-wonderin', 

How they had tickled me. 

My mommy is the best I guess, 

'At any boy has had ; 
For when I told her my new game, 
. She says, "All right, my lad." 
An' when I'd show'd her ist what place 

Out on the grassy plot, 
She fed my kitten an' my pup 

Right on that very spot. 

If ever I have little boys, 

An' live in some big town, 
An' they come home all hot an' sick, 

An' measles,gets 'em down, 
I'll have it fixed beforehand, 

So they'll never care a grain, 
Cause ev'ry winder in my house 

Must have a crooked pane. 

Page Two Hundred and Fifty-Two 



Poems of Jlfflorlo, 



The Scapegoat 

(Selected) 

[£ anybody comes in late 
To dinner and don't shut the gate, 
Or doesn't sweep the porch or go 
Right out and shovel off the snow, 
Or brin»- in wood, or wipe his feet, 
Or leave the woodshed nice and neat, 
It's me. 

If anybody doesn't think 
To carry out the cow a drink, 
Or tracks mud on the kitchen floor, 
Or doesn't shut the cellar door, 
Or leaves the broom out on the stoop, 
Or doesn't shut the chicken coop, 
It's me. 

If anybody doesn't bring 
The hammer in or breaks a thing, 
Or dulls the ax, or doesn't know 
What has become of so and so, 
That's lost for maybe six weeks past, 
If anybody had it last, 
It's me. 

If anything is lost or gone 
They've got someone to blame it on, 
I get the blame for all the rest 
Because I am the littlest ; 
And if they have to blame someone 
For what is or what isn't done, 
It's me. 



The Moo-Cow-Moo 

Edmund Vance Cook 

My pa held me up to the moo-cow-moo 
So clost I could almost touch, 

En I fed him a couple of times, or two, 
En I wasn't a fraid-cat much. 

But ef my papa goes into the house. 

En mamma, she goes in, too, 
I just keep still, like a little mouse, 

Fer the moo-cow-moo might moo! 

Page Two Hundred and Fifty-Three 



^laems of Purify 



The moo-cow-moo's got a tail like a rope 
En it's raveled down where it grows, 

En it's just like feeling a piece of soap 
All over the moo-cow's nose. 

En the moo-cow-moo has lots of fun 

Just swinging his tail about; 
En he opens his mouth and then I run 

'Cause that's where the moo comes out. 

En the moo-cow-moo's got deers on his head 
En his eyes stick out o' their place, 

En the nose o' the moo-cow-moo is spread 
All over the end of his face. 

En his feet is nothing but finger-nails 
En his mamma don't keep 'em -cut, 

En he gives folks milk in water-pails 
Ef he don't keep his handles shut. 

'Cause ef you er me pulls the handles, why 
The -moo-cow-moo says it hurts, 

But the hired man he sits down clost by 
En squirts, en squirts, en squirts ! 



"On the Judgmunt Day" 

Edmund Vance Cooke 

That Jim Young's a mean old thing, 

What you think he done ? 
He knocked my alley out the ring 

'N' grabbed it up 'n' run. 
An' it wasn't keepses, like he says it was, 
'Cause keeps is wicked gamblin' ; he knows it, too, he 

does. 
Why'd he run away for, if he thought tuz fair? 
He's a mean, old cheater, now, but I don't care. 
He'll git ketched up sometime where he can't run way ; 
An' he'll git a lickin' on the Judgmunt Day. 

"What you laughin' at? It's so. 

If you're bad er naughty! 
Guess my mother ought to know, 

'N' she tol' me V Tottie 
Not to tell no stories, ner to say bad things, 

Page Two Hundred and Fifty-Four 



"Poems of plorth 



Ner hook the groe'ry apples, ner to pull flies' wings, 
Ner b' unpolite to comp'ny, ner walk the railroad ties, 
Ner to fight — espechly fellers not yer size, 
Ner never go a-swimmin', 'less she says we may 
Er we'd git a lickin' on the Judgmunt Day. 

"Joey Smith, he's orful had ; 

He's much hadder'n me. 
'Cause he's a stealer! Oncet he had 

Two bird-nests from our tree. 
An' the little 'cheepses,' — course they couldn't fly, 
Jus' was let' there, nakid, on the groun' to die. 
I was jus' as mad as ever I could be. 
I'd a-killed that feller! But he's bigger'n me. 
I don't care. He'll ketch it. 'N' so'll Grace 'n' Nell, 
'Cause they tol' I whispered, 'n' they oughtent tell. 
'N' I was kep' at recess, so's I couldn't play; 
But teacher'll git a lickin' on the Judgmunt Day. 

"If I'm good as sugar, say! 

Wun't I have the fun, 
Watchin' other chaps that day 

When the lickin's done? 
Gee! I'll do it. I'll try to alius 'use the mat,' 
Keep the ten commandments, never plague the cat. 
Take good care of Tottie, not play games too rough, 
Be like grannie tells me, 'n' if that ain't good 'nough, 
I'll jus' walk up, yessir, up to God 'n' say, 
'I'm here to take my lickin,' on the Judgmunt Day." 



Somebody Did 

(Selected) 

Somebody stood right up on the top of a chair, 

An' reached in the cookie jar away up there, 

Nobody's lookin' and mamma's asleep, 

An' all of us children were playin' Bo-peep. 

Nowhere near the pantry and tryin' to get, 

Some cookies and someway the jar upset. 

An' my! it busted all over the floor. 

1st a sight, but John he isn't scared and he wrapped on 

the door. 
And says, "Ma, just come and see what Somebody did," 
While all of us children we runncd off and hid, 
Cuz we don't know who did it, but Somebody did. 

Page Two Hundred and Fifty-Five 



Jlocma of ptorttf 



Somebody crawled up in a big, leather chair, 

By the library table at stood over there, 

When we were a playin', no one was near the ink, 

And mamma was sewing, an' what do you think? 

Somebody upset it an' knocked it ist 

Right off the table and down, 

An' my, it ist busted an' runned everywhere, 

On our very best rug ist a sight ! 

But John he isn't scared, he runned right up stairs, an 

he said, 
"Ma, come and see what Somebody did." 
But all of us children we runned off and hid, 
Cuz we don't know who did it but Somebody did. 

And once when the kitchen floor was all scrubbed so clean 

The floor was ist so shiny as ever you seen, 

And we was all playin' out down in the street, 

Somebody went in with the muddiest feet, 

And tracked it all over the floor ist a sight, 

An' my ! when we saw it, we ist shook with fright. 

Cuz none of us children had been near it all day, 

But John, he isn't scared he went right away, 

And he knocked on the window, an' he says, 

"Ma, come and see what Somebody did." 

An' all of us children we runned off and hid, 

Cuz we didn't do it but Somebody did. 



Piller Fights 

D. A. Ellsworth 

Piller fights is fun, I tell you, 
There isn't anything I'd rather do 
Than get a big piller and hold it tight, 
Stand up in bed and then just fight. 

Us boys allers have our piller fights 
And the best night of all is pa's lodge night. 
Soon as ever he goes we say "Good night," 
Then go right upstairs for a piller fight. 

Sometimes maybe ma comes to the stairs 

And hollers up, "Boys, have you said your prayers?" 

And then George will holler "Yes, mamma," for he always 

has, 
Good deal of preacher about George, pa says. 

Page Two Hundred and Fifty-Six 



^ocms uf JHnrtlt 



Ma says, "Pleasant Dreams" and shuts the door, 
If she's a-listenin' both of us snore, 
But ;i-> soon as ever she goes we light a light 
And pitch right into our pillow tight. 

We play that the- bed is Hunker Hill, 

And George is Americans, so he stands still. 

But 1 am the British so I must hit 

As hard as ever 1 can to make him get. 

We played Buena Vista one night, 

Fell you that was an awful hard fight. 

Held up our pillers like they was a flag, 

An' hollered, "Little more grape-juice, Captain Bragg." 

That was the night that George hit the nail, 

You just ought to have seen those feathers sail. 

1 was covered as white as flour, 
Me and him picked them up for most an hour ; 
Next day when our ma saw that there mess 
She was pretty mad you better guess. 

.And she told our pa and he just said, 
"Come right on out to this here shed." 
Tell you he whipped us till we were sore 
And made us both promise to do it no more. 

That was a long time ago. and now lodge nights 
Or when pa's away we have piller fights. 
Bui in Buena Vista George is bound 
To see there aren't any nails anywhere 'round. 

Piller fights is fun, I tell you. 
There isn't anything I'd rather do 
Than get a big piller and hold it tight. 
Stand up in bed and then just fight. 



A Besetting Sin 

Edmund Vance Cook 

I shan't be bad no more, I shan't, I'm goan to be real good ; 
I heard a preacher-man an' he said everybody could; 
Ef they jus' kep' a-tryin' and a-tryin' day by day. 
An' if they didn't try they'd go — some place I mustn't say. 

Pace Two Hundred and Fifty-Seven 



•poems of pJorilj 



Er mother says I mustn't, 'nd so of course I shan't, 
Don't see why preachers say it if other fellers can't! 
(But I'm a-goan to be real good, I shan't pull pussy's tail, 
Ner tie our nice, old Nodie to a pasty, old tin pail.) 

Like I did once when Tommy Johnson said I didn't dast : 

I'd like to fix the feller, but my wicked days is past! 

I shan't get mad when baby sucks the paint off all my 

blocks, 
Ner spend a cent pa gives me fer the missionary box. 

I'm goan to be a martire an' I shan't be bad one speck; 
Ain't even goan to cry when mother makes me wash my 

neck. 
Most martire fellers wasn't much, why, any circus man'll 
Cuff them lions 'round an' do it just as slick as Dan'l. 

Aunt Becky thinks it's somethin' great to live in sacks 'nd 

ashes, 
I think that's fun ! An' hair-cloth shirts, I bet they had 

the rashes, 
'Nd wore them shirts to scratch 'em, of course that Jony 

feller 
Inside that great, big whale, all dark like 'way down-in- 

our-cellar. 

He had a heap of spunk, he had, but I just told Aunty 

Beck, 
He didn't alius have to go and wash his dog-gone neck. 
That's goan to be the worstest thing an' orful hard, I 

know, 
But I'm dissolved to do it if I do hate it so. 

It's funny hatey things is good, but I suppose it's true, 
An' things you like is mostly things you hadn't ought 

to do. 
An' water's cold, er if it's hot, it's so blamed hot it's 

scaldy, 
And sides, it wets yer collar all around yer Garrybaldy, 

An' runs all down yer back, an' then the soap gets in yer 
eyes, 

Because the towel ain't where it was, and then some- 
times I cries, 

But I shan't cry no more though, p'r'aps I'll want to, I 
expec', 

But when I'm growed, I ain't a goan to neber wash my 
neck! 

Page Two Hundred and Fifty-Eight 



fliunus of 3^ortI| 



Hut now I'm goan to do it, till I'm old enough, at last, 
To know what thing's I dassent do, an' other things 1 (last. 
An' if I have a little boy, as course 1 will, 1 'spec', 
1 het vou forty dollars I'll never make him wash his neck. 



Daisy's Faith 

(Selected) 

Down in de b'ight, deen meadow, de pitty daisies home — 
Daisies dat are my namesake, mamma has let me tome, 
S'e said dat s'e tould see me from her yoom window dere r 
Besides, 1 know our Fadder will teep me in his tare. 

Oh, see how many daisies, daisies so white an' fair, 
I'll make a weaf for mamma to wear upon her hair. 
An' den s'e'll loot so pitty, my darlin' own mamma! 
An' tis^ her 'ittle Daisy an' s'ow it to papa. 

( Ine-two-fee sits an' 'leven, lum'ded, an' eight, an' nine, 
I b'ieve dat's mos' enough now to mate it pitty line. 
1 wouldnt he at 'aid here, mamma an' Dod tan see, 
I know dey would let nossin' tome near dat tould hurt me. 

De bweeze is soft and toolin' an' tosses up my turls, 
I dess it tomes from heaven to play wis' 'ittle dirls. 
De birdies sin' so sweetly, to me dey seem to say, 
"Don't be afraid, dear Daisy. Dod teeps 'oo all de day." 

I'll mate a hall for baby soon as dis weaf is done. 
An' den I'll fow it at her — oh, dear, my fead's all gone, 
Well, den I'll take dis wihhon, off my old st'aw hat, 
I sinks mamma would let me, I'll — oh, dear me, what's 
dat? 

I sought I did hear somesin' move in dat bus' close by, 
I's not at all af'aid dough, oh, no, indeed not I. 
Mamma, win-, she's not lootin', she's font de window- 
don' ; 
Den maybe Dod is tired too, 'tause I 'taid here so long. 

I dess I'll yun a 'ittle I b'ieve Dod wants me too, 
He tat tate too muts t'ouble ; I sint I'd better do, 
An' tate my pitty f'owers, an' tay wis mamma dear, 
Dod is way up in de heaven, I would like someone near. 

Page Two Hundred and Fifty-Nine 



Poems of piorilj 



My daisies, dey are fallin', my han's are so s'atin' so, 
Oh, dear, de weaf 's all boten, don't tare, I want to do. _ 
I know dere's somesin' live dere see, now dere's two, bid 

eyes, 
A lootin' right st'aight at me, Dod's way up in the sties. 

Tan he tate tare of Daisy? I see a drate, blat head, 
A tomin' foo de bus'es, but, dere, I'm not af aid. 
O'ny — I want my mamma — I dess dat is a bear, 
Bears eat up 'ittle chillun, I wis' dat Dod was here. 

Ow ! Ow ! I tant help stweamin', oh, dear Fs so af aid, 
Tome mamma, oh, tome twitly, to help 'oor 'ittle maid, 
Dod has fordot 'oor Daisy dat bear is tomin' fast, 
Why 'tis our dear old Yover tome home f'om town at 
last. 

O' Yover, dear ole dordy, what made you fwight — well, 

no, 
I'm not a'faid, for, Yover, Dod tares for me you know. 
He would let nossin' hurt me; dere's mamma lootin' too 
We'll mend dat weaf, now, Yover, mamma will lite it so. 



Little Joe's Flowers 

(Selected) 

Prop your eyes wide open, Joey, 

For I've brought you sumpin' great 

Apples? No, but something better! 
Don't you take no interest ? Wait ! 

Flowers, Joe — I knew you'd like 'em — 

Ain't them scrumptious? Ain't them high? 

Tears, my boy? Wot's them fur, Joey? 
There — poor, little Joe — don't cry! 

I was skippin' past a winder, 

Where a bang-up lady sot,. 
All amongst a lot of bushes — 

Each one climbin' from a pot. 

Every bush had flowers on it — 

Pretty? Mebbynot! Oh, no! 
Wish you could a-seen 'em growin' 

It was such a stunnin' show. 

Page Two Hundred and Sixty 



•JJocnts of Jflorth 



Well, I thought of you, poor fellow, 
Lyin' here so sick and weak, 

Never knowin' any comfort, 
And 1 puts on lots o' cheek. 

"Missus,'' says I. "if you, please, mum, 
Could 1 ax you for a rose? 

For my little brother, missus — 
Never seed one I suppose." 

Then 1 told her all about you — 
How I bringed you up, poor Joe ! 

i Lackin' women folks to do it,) 
Such a 'imp you was, you know. 

'Till yer got that awful tumble, 

Just as 1 had broke yer in 
| Hard work, too) to earn yer livin' 

Blackin' boots fer honest tin. 

How that tumble crippled of you, 
So's you couldn't hyper much — 

Joe, it hurted when I seen you 
For the first time with yer crutch. 

"But," I says, "he's laid up now, mum, 
'Pears to weaken every day." 

Joe, she up and went to cuttin' 
That's the how of this bokay. 

Say ! It seems to me, ole feller. 
You is quite yourself tonight! 

Kind o' chirk — it's been a fortnight 
Since yer eyes have been so bright. 

Better? Well, I'm glad to hear it, 
Yes, they're mighty pretty, Joe, 

Smellin' of 'em's made you happy? 
Well, I thought it would, you know. 

Never seed the country, did you? 

Flowers growin' everywhere ! 
Sometime when you're better, Joc\ , 

Mebbe I kin take you there. 

Rowers in Heaven? M — I 'spose so, 
Dunno much about it, though ! 

Ain't as fly as wot I might be 
On them topics, little Joe. 

Page Two Hundred and Sixty-one 



^jjfoems of piorilj 



But I've heard it hinted somewhere, 

That in Heaven's golden gates 
Things is everlastin' cheerful — 

B'lieve that's what the Bible states. 

Likewise, there folks don't get hungry, 
So good people when they dies, 

Finds themselves well fixed forever — 
Joe, my boy, wot ails your eyes? 

Thought they looked a little sing'ler, 
Oh, no, don't you have no fear ; 

Heaven was made for such as you is — 
Joe, wot makes you look so queer? 

Here, wake up! Oh, don't look that way! 

Joe, my boy ! Hold up your head ! 
Here's your flowers, you dropped 'em, Joey ! 

Joey ! Can it be that Joe is dead ? 



Page Two Hundred and Sixty-two 



Title Index 



A 

Page 

Abou Ben \dam 77 

Afterglow 39 

Alia for Rosa 145 

All's Well That Ends Well 141 

America for Me 33 

Annabel Lee 45 

Answer of America 45 

Apple Blossoms 73 

Arbor Day Tree, An 216 

Arrow and the Song, The 66 

At the Zoo 240 

Autumn Leaves 184 

Au\ It aliens ^ 82 

B 

Barabara Frietchie 50 

Barefoot Boy, The 52 

Besetting Sin, A 257 

Be the Fellow That Your Mother Thinks You Are 99 

Between Two Loves 142 

Billv He's In Trouble 148 

Bill Mason's Bride 102 

Blue and the (iray, The 55 

Bluebird, The . . . 205 

Boy's Conclusion, A 238 

Boyless Town, The 236 

Breathes there a Man With Soul so Dead 68 

Bud Discusses Cleanliness 250 

Bugle Song, The 41 

Builders, The 32 

Building of the Ship, The 3 

Burial of Poor Cock Robin, The 203 



Candle-Lightin' Time 224 

Castor Oil . 249 

Chicken's Mistake, The 212 

Chile Harold. ... 3 

Children's Hour, The 169 

Christmas 194 

Christmas Bells 62 

Christmas Kid, A 231 

Christmas Song, A 198 

Cock Robin and Jenny Wren 200 

Columbus . 75 

Come Away Comrades 216 

Cookin' Things 239 

Crooked Window Pane I he 252 

Crossing tin- Bar 41 

Counting Daisj Petals 103 

Cow, The 161 



D Page 

Da Farmer 140 

Daffodils, The 81 

Daisy's Faith 259 

Daybreak. . . 56 

Day is Done, The 64 

Dead Doll, The 232 

De Captaine of De "Marguerite" 126 

De Cirque at 01' Ste. Anne 125 

Dedication of Gettysburg Cemetery, The 4 

Dolly's Complaint 234 

Doll's Wooing, The 228 

Duel, The 174 

E 

Easter Time, At 215 

Encouragement 139 

F 

Faries Tea Party, The 217 

Family Group, The 156 

Fellar's Hat, A 249 

Fidgets, The 251 

Finnegin to Flannigan 155 

First Snow Drop, The • 214 

First Snowfall, The 49 

Flower of Mending. The 36 

Flag Goes By, The. . . 173 

Fool and the Little Court Lady, The 101 

Foreign Children 161 

Four Little Clouds 213 

Frost, The 190 

G 

Grandma Pays the Bill 242 

Growing Indignity, The 243 

Gunga Din 28 

H 

Habitant, The 120 

Hamlet's Soliloquy 23 

Hang Up the Baby's Stocking 193 

Harbinger, The 145 

Heart of a Seed, The 214 

Her Folks and Hiz'n 150 

HeWasn't In It 131 

Hiawatha's Childhood 170 

Hiawatha's Wooing 57 

Highwayman, The 

His New Brother 221 

Hired Man Says, The 158 

Home 110 

How Did You Die 71 

House By the Side of the Road, The 

House with Nobody in It, The 

How the Leaves Came Down 184 

Hullo 109 

Hum Urn Not Me HI 

Hurrah for the Flag 167 



Page 

I • 30 

Girls, An 148 

If I Can Be By Her 151 

If I Should Die To-night.. 153 

If I Was F.r Horse 241 

Independence Pell 69 

In Flanders Fields 45 

In My Father's House 93 

Inn that Missed Its' Chance, The 91 

In the Morning 136 

In tin- Usual Way 134 

J 

Jane Jones 227 

Janitor's Child, The 235 

Jersey Cow, The 159 

Jest 'Fore Christmas 230 

Jim Bludsoe 80 

Just for a Girl 100 

K 

Kentucky Philosophy 131 

L 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, The 74 

Laughing Chorus, A 199 

Leap for Life, A 76 

Lilv's Ball 209 

Little Boy Blue 79 

Little Brown Baby 137 

Little foe's Flowers 260 

Little "Kittens, The 191 

Little Orphant Annie 180 

Little Snowflakes 189 

Lochinvar 47 

Lonley Honeymoon, The 133 

Lost Baby, The 244 

M 

Ma and the Auto 247 

Mammy's Pickaninny 220 

Man 25 

Mandalav 26 

Man's a Man for A' That, A 67 

Marjery Gray 105 

Me an' Pap an' Mother 154 

Mercy 25 

Mia Carlotta 142 

Minuet, The 223 

Mon Pierre 116 

Moo-Cow-Moo, The 253 

Money Musk 96 

Mother O' Mine 25 

Mrs. Lofty and 1 77 

Mrs. Malone and the Censor 158 



Page 

My Master 87 

My Shadow 162 

My Ships 35 

My Sore Thumb 241 

N- 

National Flag, The 5 

Naughty Zell 237 

Necklace of Pearls, The 65 

New Patriot, The 147 

Night Cometh, The 88 

Night Wind, The 175 

Nobility 42 

Nolan's Speech 4 

North American Indians 6 

November 43 

O 

Captain! My Captain! 48 

October's Bright Blue Weather 187 

October's Party 188 

Old Front Gate, The 138 

Old Sweetheart of Mine, An 98 

O Little Town of Bethlehem 196 

One, Two, Three 163 

Only One Mother 181 

On the Judgment Day 254 

Opportunity 54 

Ould Plaid "Shawl, The 130 

Our Hired Girl 179 

Owl and the Pussy Cat, The 172 

P 

Patchwork Quilt, The 226 

Pessimist, The 152 

Piller Fights 256 

Planting the Tree 217 

Poet and His Song, The 44 

Poor Little Clouds 213 

Practising Time 248 

Pussy Willows 207 

Q 

Quarrel in the Oven, A ,. . . , 208 

R 

Raggedy Man, The 178 

Raining 183 

Reputation 24 

Ring Out Wild Bells 40 

Robert of Lincoln 211 

Roofs 37 

S 

Sandman, The 165 

Scrapegoat, The 253 

Seein' Things 229 



Page 

September 186 

Seven Vges .>t Man, I In 24 

Shopping for Sleep . . 166 

Signs of the Times 135 

Sister's Best Fellow 221 

Sittin' By rln- Fire 153 

Smack in School, The 133 

Smile 35 

Soap ' 242 

Solitude 34 

Somebody Dul 255 

Somebody's Mother 72 

Song 66 

SprrJer and the Fly, The 167 

Spring Soul;, A 199 

Spring Song 210 

Squirrel's Arithmetic, The 187 

Star-Spangled Banner, The 68 

Sugar Plum Tree, The 176 

Suppose 164 

Swinging in the Grape-vine Swing 100 



1 hanatopsis 36 

Thanksgiving Day 190 

They Didn't Think 181 

Three Little Chestnuts 189 

Three Little Trees 216 

Tillie Olson 147 

(Time Enough 185 

Tin Gee-Gee, The 123 

Tit for Tat 112 

Trees 37 

Turkey's Dream, The 149 

V 

Verses of Friendship and Faith 31 

Visit from St. Nicholas, A 194 

Village Blacksmith, The 63 

W 

Was Von Ever Spanked 240 

Washington's Birthday 218 

Mill. The 89 

Weaving of the Flag, The 162 

What the Choir Sang about the New Bonnett 95 

When the Minister Comes to Tea 245 

\\ In n We Haven't Said Our Prayers 225 

When Earth's Last Picture is Painted 30 

While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By \i ght 197 

Who Stole the Bird's Nest ' 205 

Wiggly W aggly Polliwog, The 246 

Wild White Rose, The 86 

Wind, The 160 

Wishes 146 

Wishes and Work 208 



Page 

Wonderful Weaver, The 192 

Wynken Blynken and Nod 177 

Y 

Year's at the Spring, The 208 

Your Flag and My Flag 78 



Index of Authors 



Anisliaiy. Wallace Bruce Page 

De Captaine of De "Marguerite" 126 

De Cirque at 01' Ste. Anne 125 

Mon Pierre 116 

Belcher, Henry Ward 

National Flag, The 5 

Bennett, Henry Holcomb 

Glag Goes By, The 173 

Bliss, Paul 

When We Haven't Said Our Prayers 225 

Brooks, Philipps 

O Little Town of Bethlehem 196 

Browning, Robert 

Year's At the Spring, The 208 

Bryant, William Cullen 

Robert of Lincoln 211 

Thanatopsis 36 

Bunner, H. C. 

One Two Three 163 

Burns, Robert 

Man's a Man for A' That, A 67 

Bvron, Lord 

Childe Harold 3 

Cape, Fred 

Tin Gee-Gee, The 123 

Cary, Alice 

Nobility 42 

November 43 

Carey, Phoebe 

Chicken's Mistake, The 212 

They Didn't Think 181 

Suppose 164 

Childs, Lydia M. 

Thanksgiving Day 190 

Who Stole the Bird's Nest 205 

Chamberlain, Arthur 

Smile 35 

Col on, Walter 

Leap for Life, A 76 

Cook--, F.dmund Vance 

Besetting Sin, A 257 

How Did You Die 71 



Page 

Moo-Cow-Moo, The 253 

On the Judgment Day 254 

Cooper, George 

Autumn Leaves 184 

Only One Mother 181 

Wonderful Weaver The 192 

Cox, Lytton 

Counting Daisy Petals 103 \ 

Weaving of the Flag, The 162 

Daly T. A. 

Al'a of Rosa 145 

All's Well That Ends We 1 141 

Between Two Loves 142 

Da Farmer 140 

Mia Carlotta 142 

Harbinger, The 145 

Lonely Honey Moon, The 133 

New Patriot, The 147 

Wishes 146 

Dana, Julai M. 

First Snow Drop, The 214 

Deland, Margaret 

While Shepherds Watched 197 

Dodge, Mary Mapes 

Minuet, The 223 

Driver, Grace L. 

Planting the Tree 217 

Drummond, William Henry 

Habitant, The 120 

Dunbar, Paul Laurence 

Candle-Lightin' Time 224 

Encouragement 139 

In the Morning 136 

Little Brown Baby 137 

Old Front Gate, The 138 

Poet and His Song, The 44 

Signs of the Times 135 

Ellsworth, D. A. 

Piller Fights 256 

Field, Eugene 

Doll's Wooing, The 228 

Duel, The.... 174 

Jest 'Fore Christmas 230 

Little Boy Blue 79 

Night Wind, The 175 

Seein' Things 229 

Sugar Plum Tree, The 176 

Wynken Blynken and Nod 177 

Finch, Francis Miles 

Blue and the Gray, The 55 



. Sam \\ .ilt. i Page 

Housi' by the Side of the Road, The c >- 

Hullo 109 

(jillilan. Strickland W. 

Crooked Window Pane, 1 in . .. 252 

Family < iroup, 1 In- 156 

Fidgets, The 251 

Finnigan to Flannigan 155 

Me an' Pap an' Mother 154 

Gould, Hannah F. 

I rost, Hie 190 

CliHst. Edgar V 

Hud Discusses Cleanliness 250 

Castor Oil 249 

Feller's Hat, A 249 

Home 110 

Ma ami the Auto 247 

Mrs. M alone and the Censor 158 

Practising l'ime 248 

Ha C Kd\\ a: d Even tt 

Nolan's Speech 4 

Harr son, Robertson 

Kentucky Philosophy 131 

Hartr. Bre 

Bill Mason's Bride 102 

Hay, J oh 

Jim Bludsoe 80 

Hemans, Felecia 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, The 74 

Howitt, Mary 

Spider and the Fly, The 167 

Hunt. Leigh 

Abou Ben Adham 77 

Jackson, Helen I lunr 

September 186 

October's Bright Blue Weather 187 

Jenkins, Lucy Dean 

Mammy's Pickaninny 220 

Johnson. Bi 

Cookin' Things 239 

It" I was Er Horse 241 

My Sore Thumb 241 

Soap 242 

Was You Ever Spanked 240 

Francis Scott 

Star Spangled Banner, I he 68 

Kilmer, ]■ 

lions with Nobody in It, The 38 

Roofs 37 

I In s ... 37 



King, Ben 

Jane Jones 227 

Her Folks and His'n 150 

Ifl Can Be by Her 151 

If I Should Die To-night 153 

Pessimist, The 152 

Kipling, Rudyard 

Gunga Din 28 

If 30 

Mandalay 26 

Mother O' Mine 25 

When Earth's Last Picture is Painted 30 

Leat, Edward 

Owl and the Pussy Cat, The 172 

Lillard, R. W. 

Answer of America 45 

Lincoln, Abraham 

Dedication of Gettysburg Cemetery, The 4 

Lincoln, Joe 

His New Brother 221 

Sister's Best Fellow 221 

Lindsay, Vachel 

Flower of Mending, The 36 

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth 

Arrow and the Song, The 66 

Children's Hour, The 169 

Christmas Bells 62 

Daybreak 56 

Day Is Done, The 64 

Hiawatha's Childhood 170 

Hiawatha's Wooing 57 

Necklace of Pearls, The 65 

Village Blacksmith, The 63 

Loveman, Robert 

Raining 183 

Lowell, James Russel 

First Snowfall, The 49 

Lytton, Robert Bulwer 

Aux I taliens 82 

Martin, George 

Apple Blossoms 7 3 

McCrae, John (Lieut. Co.) 

In Flanders Fields 45 

Miller, Emily H. 

Bluebird, The 205 

Miller, Joaquin 

Columbus 75 

Morgan, Angela 

Afterglow 39 

More, Clement C. 

.Visit from St. Nicholas, A 194 



Morrison, M. T. Page 

What the Choir Sang About the New Bonnett 95 

Nesbit. Wilbur D. 

Growing Indignity, A 243 

Your Flag and My Flag 78 

Noyes, Alfred 

Highwayman, The 113 

Otis, F.lizabeth 

If for Girls, An 148 

Palmer, W. P. 

Smack in School, The 133 

Peo, Edgar Allan 

Annabel Lee 45 

Price, Natalia Whitted 

Patchwork Quilt, The 226 

Richards, Laura E. 

Easter Time, At 215 

Riley, James Whitcomb 

Little Orphant Annie 180 

Old Sweetheart of Mine, An 98 

Our Hired Girl 179 

Raggedy Man, The 178 

Sangster, Margaret 

Washington's Birthday 218 

Scott, Walter 'Sir) 

Breathes There a Man With Soul So Dead 68 

Lochinvar 47 

Opportunity 54 

Shakespeare, William 

Hamlet's Soliloquy 23 

Man 25 

Mercy 25 

Reputation 24 

Seven Ages of Man 24 

Smith, Hubbard T. 

Swinging in the Grape Vine Swing 100 

Smith, Olive F. 

Come Away Comrades 216 

Sprague, Charles 

North American Indian, The 6 

Stevenson, Robert Louis 

Cow, The 161 

Foreign Children 161 

My Shadow 162 

Wind, The 160 

Tate, Nahun » 

Christmas 194 

Tennyson, Alfred 

Crossing the Bar 41 

Ring Out Wild Bells 40 



Vanderfrift, Margaret Fage 

The Sand Man 165 

Van Dyke, Henry 

America for Me 33 

Builders, The 32 

Verses of Friendship and Faith 31 

Ward, Lydia A. C. 

Christmas Song, A 198 

Wells, Amos R. 

Inn that Missed It's Chance, The 91 

Wells, John D. 

Hired Man Says, The 158 

Whittier, John Greenleaf 

Barbara Frietchie 50 

Barefoot Boy, The 52 

Whitman, Walt 

Captain! My Captain 48 

Widdemer, Margaret 

Song 66 

Wilcox, Ella Wheeler 

My Ships 35 

Solitude 34 

Willis, Ellen H. 

Wild White Rose, The 86 

Wordsworth, William 

Daffodils, The .81 



